Shattering Truth
by Future Memory
Summary: In which point does selfishness end and selflessness begin, and in a moment of desperation can we tell the difference between the two?
1. Chapter 1

_**I originally planned to write this as a one shot, but then I realized there's no possible way to fit everything in, so I decided to make a story out of it. So this story will probably have a small amount of chapters, but honestly, I can't devote myself to developing any longer until my exams are over. If I don't write I'll go crazy, though. I hope you will enjoy this story and I look forward to hearing what you have to say! :)**_

* * *

"Stefan, have you seen my blazer?" Elena shouts from the living room, buried under the pile of clothes she threw away from the closet while looking for her favorite blue blazer. Annoyed, she starts digging through the pile of clothes one more time. Even if she leaves for work right this instant she would arrive late. Luckily for her, her boss has been giving her some slack recently, and even though she doesn't know why, she's smart enough not to ask and enjoy the perks while they last.

"You left it on the sofa," she hears her husbands voice coming from the living room, and she throws her arms in the air out of desperation. She growls at her own stupidity while trying to dig herself out of the pile of clothes she has no time to clean now, which means she will have to do it when she comes home later today, and heads over to the living room. She picks up the blazer from the sofa and puts it on.

"What are you up to today?" she asks once she feels her husbands presence in the room.

"Oh, you know," he says casually, and when she turns around to face him, she catches him leaning against the door from on the entrance to the kitchen, watching her carefully with a smile on his face, "Same old," he shrugs.

She untangles her long, brown hair which got trapped while she was taking her blazer on in a hurry and walks over to the dresser on the other side of the room to pick up her work bag. She turns around and bumps into Stefan, her chest only few inches away from his, her arm scraping against his.

When she puts her hand on his, her fingers traveling around his, he flinches.

"Is there something wrong?" she asks silently, furrowing her brows once she notices expression of slight shock, which he's trying to hide, on his face.

His brows stay knitted together for some time, his look locked on their laced fingers, and under the intensity of it she feels like each of his fingertips has a heart of its own. Soon enough, the shock on his face gets replaced by a genuine smile.

"No," he shakes his head slightly, his smile becoming wider, "It feels so good, your touch on my skin," he swallows.

"Really?" she sounds genuinely surprised, "It seems like recently you have been avoiding me," she makes an observation.

He frowns. _Oh, so she noticed._ "No, I haven't," he denies the truth firmly. "When are you going to be home?" he asks to avoid further discussion on the subject.

"I'll be at work until 4pm, and then half of hour later I have an appointment with Dr. Edwards. So, I'll be home for dinner," she hums while squeezing his fingers with hers. She feels like she hasn't touched him in weeks, when in reality the last time she probably touched him was yesterday. Or last night in bed, while they were sleeping. "I'll pick up dinner on my way home. Chinese?" she doesn't want to let go of him, which is quite irrational of her. She will see him in few hours, like she does every day. He leaves for work an hour after her, and usually is home before her. In rare cases he's the one who comes home later. The perks of not having an office job like she does.

"Perfect," he nuzzles his nose against her, taking the smell of her perfume up his nostrils, the sweet smell of tropic fruit, "Speaking of Dr. Edwards, do the two of you ever talk about me? Us?" he cocks his eyebrow in her direction.

She smirks devilishly. "Wouldn't you like to know," she smiles while pressing her lips against his. He gasps a little when she does so, like it's a luxury, not an everyday thing. She tries to remember has he ever done it before. Probably, she just hasn't noticed up until now.

"I'm serious," he says casually, but there's a certain kind of tension in his voice which urges her to tell him the truth.

"Yes," she feels like someone is ripping these words out against her will, "He asks me how are we, relationship wise, how often do I see you, does our tight schedule effect our relationship," she gives in into this abuse someone is doing to her mind, making her speak about something she's not supposed to, "Our efforts to have a baby," she clears her throat with a cough. They have been trying to have a baby for a year now already, but so far, no luck. They have been to few doctors and every one of them said everything is fine with both of them, and that there's no physical reason to why she can't conceive. They know it's not from the lack of trying.

"You're going to be late," is all he says, releasing the grip he has on her, but her brain is unwilling to make her body move away from his. She looks at the old grandfather clock on a wall in front of her to see if she has few more minutes to spare, even though she knows she's already late. When her eyes fall on the clock she notices that it stopped on 2:32 pm. Unexplained shivers go through her body. _"We should get that fixed,"_ she thinks to herself.

"We should get what fixed?" he asks confused, and she pushes herself away from him.

There's confusion written over both of their faces. Her eyes stay locked on his as his wandering look moves over the room, trying to avoid hers.

"How did you know what I've been thinking?" she whispers that question out, aware of how crazy it sounds.

His confusion gets replaced with an unwary smile. "You have been thinking too loud, Buttercup," his smile turns into a smirk.

She gives herself a mental slap for not thinking of it sooner. She probably said what she's been thinking without even realizing it. She's so comfortable, and used to sharing her thoughts with Stefan that, by now, she probably does it on instinct.

"So, are you going to tell me what needs fixing?" he gives her a quizzical look.

She gives him a nod towards the clock. He turns around and notices the same thing she did, the clock has stopped at 2:32 pm. Cold current goes through his body, making him tremble. He swallows hard.

"Do you know when it broke down?" he asks curiously, trying to keep his voice at bay.

She tries to remember if this is the first time she noticed it stopped. No, she had seen it last week, and the week before.. her memory doesn't know how far it has to reach. Come to think about it, the clock doesn't work for quite some time.

"Maybe a month ago," she says.

His shoulders get tense, but before she gets to ask any questions he says, "You should go now. It's one thing to be fashionably late, but a whole other when you're late for more than half of hour."

* * *

Somehow she manages to be only 10 minutes late, but no one says anything to her about arriving late for work. Some people smile at her, so wide that their smiles seem fake, and some keep their looks down.

Strange people. She has never been close to any of them anyway.

When she gets in front of her office, she greets her secretary, Marcie, with a warm smile, and Marcie gives her such a look, like smiling is against the law.

"I apologize for being late," she tells Marcie who keeps glancing at her boss sideways, "Clothing incident."

Marcie keeps quiet, her face only adapting more confused expression with time.

"Did anything happen in these 10 minutes I have been late?" Elena can't ignore the tension in the room, so she decides to dismiss Marcie as fast as she can.

"No," Marcie shakes her head, "Oh, Mr. Saltzman came by," she remembers, "He told me to tell you there are some e-mails in your inbox that need your urgent attention," she nods.

"Is that all?" Elena asks, turning her laptop on.

"Yes, Mrs. Salvatore," she barely gets Elena's last name out of her throat.

"You can go along, then," she brushes her off with a faint swing of her hand.

Marcie nods and disappears behind the table in front of Elena's office.

Strange girl.

Elena checked a bunch of e-mails Mr. Saltzman, her boss, sent to her, but she's done with dealing with them until lunch break. She has a tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee afterwards, and before she gets back to work she goes to use the restroom. Just as she's ready to leave the toilet, someone else enters the restroom and she hears two cheery voices which belong to her coworkers, Bonnie and Katherine, and something tells her she should stay inside until they leave.

"She's too happy, it's not normal. Not this soon," Bonnie comments as the water starts pouring out of the pipe.

"I know," Katherine agrees, and Elena can imagine her nodding her head as her big curls fly all the way around it, "Last week, when she came back she was acting like a person in her state should, like a cat on a pouring rain. This week, she's been cheery."

Bonnie gasps. "Do you think she's mentally unstable? Maybe the whole thing pushed her over the edge and she lost her mind."

"I don't know," Katherine says huskily, "But it's freaky."

"I don't even know why she's back to work this early," Bonnie huffs, blow drying her hands.

"I've talked to Alaric," Katherine says silently, almost through a whisper. Katherine is dating Mr. Saltzman. Everyone knows it, but no one talks about it. "He told me he talked to her doctor, and the doctor said she should go back to her old routine as soon as possible. It would give her a sense of normalcy or something. Staying at home would drive her insane, and she would be ripe for mental institution, if she's not already," Katherine gives her intake.

Bonnie stays quiet for a moment, probably pondering on the idea. "Maybe it's from all the drugs they're popping her with to keep her sane. Maybe they're giving her a false sense of happiness."

"Maybe," Katherine says, even though she doesn't sound convinced.

Even though she hears the two women leaving and the door shutting behind them, Elena doesn't leave the toilet. Have they been talking about her? Is that's why everyone are acting so strange around her? Has something happened to her and she doesn't remember?

If there's something going on that she doesn't remember, and apparently no one wants to tell her, she's going to find out one way or another. Apparently Dr. Edwards is in it. Is Stefan in it as well? Is that why she can feel he's slipping away from her, why he's not so eager to make physical contact with her?

She's pretty sure Dr. Edwards isn't allowed to give out her personal information to anyone because of the whole doctor - patient confidentiality. But even if, for some reason, he had to talk with Mr. Saltzman, then Mr. Saltzman had no right spreading it along to Katherine, who is known as a biggest gossip around the office. The only secrets she knows how to keep are her own.

Bonnie mentioned some drugs, though. She's not on any drugs. If someone was popping her with pills she would have known.

She feels helpless. If something really happened, and she can't remember it. She also feels anger rising up in her because everyone are keeping it away from her. It's her life, she has a right to know.

She's going to see Dr. Edwards soon enough, anyway, so she's going to confront him about it then. And when she comes home she's going to confront Stefan about it as well.

* * *

"How was your day so far?" Dr. Edwards asks, relaxing in his leather armchair. His glasses slide down his nose and he writes something in his brown, leather notebook.

Elena crosses her arms defensively while stiffly sitting on a red sofa. It's hard to look stiff on such a comfortable piece of furniture. "Something interesting happened at work today," she says, eyeing him carefully.

His silence urges her to continue.

"I've overheard a conversation two coworkers were having in the restroom," she spits those words out like she's already accusing the doctor of something, "They were talking about someone, I think they were talking about me."

She stops, expecting him to say something in return, but he doesn't, and his silence urges her to continue once again.

"They were saying how this woman is happier than she's supposed to be, considering what happened to her. How her happiness is freaky."

Dr. Edwards looks amused. "And why do you think they were talking about you?" he asks curiously.

Elena tries to find a legit reason, a valid answer to that question, but she can't. She shrugs, "I just had a feeling they were talking about me."

Dr. Edwards scribbles something down in his notebook.

"They also said our boss talked to the woman's doctor," she continues, "One of the coworkers I've overheard is dating the boss, and he told her the doctor told him the said woman should go back to her old routine so she doesn't go nuts."

"And you think this doctor was me?" he pushes his glasses up his nose.

"One thing doesn't add up, though," she ignores his question completely, "One of the coworkers said the woman is probably on drugs to stay sane. I'm not on any drugs," she frowns, lowering her look before raising it up suspiciously, "That I know of," she watches doctors reaction carefully.

He just laughs lightly. "I'm not slipping you any drugs," he brushes her off carefully, "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to. I'm not a part of your personal life and you don't consume anything here."

He has a point.

"Isn't breaking doctor - patient confidentiality against the law?" she asks, knitting her brows together.

The doctor lowers his pen down on the notebook and exhales, his forehead wrinkling, "I can assure you I haven't been giving your personal information to anyone. I have your best interest in mind, not anyone's else," he explains calmly, his voice calming Elena down, which is probably the effect he wanted to achieve, "The two coworkers you overheard talking were probably talking about someone else. I'm sure you're not the only person in the office who has problems," he points out.

_Problems._

Does she have problems? Because she can't remember what are they, or why she's seeing Dr. Edwards in the first place. She knows she has to see him, and until now she never doubted that. She feels happy, normal, like her life is perfect, so she can't see a reason to why should would need to see a psychologist. She doesn't see a point to their conversations since there are no knots she needs to untangle. She feels fear to tell him this because he might assume she's crazy, so she decides to discuss this with Stefan when she gets home later today.

Dr. Edwards was successful in convincing her that Bonnie and Katherine were talking about someone else, though.

"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" he asks once he notices Elena has calmed down.

She ponders on it. "I'm supposed to pick up Chinese for dinner, me and Stefan are staying in," she remembers their agreement from this morning.

"Ah, how is Stefan?" Dr. Edwards asks, seeming genuinely interested in Stefan's state.

"Lovely. He asked me do we ever talk about him," a smirk appears on Elena's face, dissolving when she remembers the feeling of the words being pulled out of her mouth by force.

Doctor gives her a look over his glasses, "And what did you tell him?"

She swallows. "The truth," she tries to keep her voice from shaking.

He pulls his lips into a long, thin line, obviously disapproving her actions.

"How are things between the two of you?" he takes his pen back into his hand, twirling it between his fingers.

She smiles. "Wonderful. I think I've imagined him pulling away from me. This morning he took me in his embrace willingly, he even seemed.." she tries to find the right word, "Relieved," it forms on her lips and escapes before she has any say in it.

"I see," she can't ignore a small frown on his face, "Are the two of you still trying to have a baby?"

She wants to answer the question, but somehow it doesn't feel right. The answer gets stuck in her throat, creating a bitter taste in her mouth, and a nauseous feeling in her stomach.

"Something strange happened this morning," she says to avoid answering his question, but he writes something down in his notebook nevertheless. "I have thought of something in my head, and like he could read my thoughts, he answered the question."

As she says those words she realizes they qualify her as crazy.

"Are you sure you haven't said them out loud?" the doctor doesn't seem too struck by this, which Elena finds a little odd. Maybe he hears crazier things on daily basis.

"Yes. No," she knits her brows together, "I'm fairly certain I haven't, but there's always a chance I have," she feels uncertain about her answer.

"What was the matter about?" he seems more curious about this than about her stating she **_maybe_** heard her husbands thoughts.

"The clock in our apartment stopped," she says matter of factly.

"When?"

She tries to remember, invoking the picture of the old grandfather clock in her memory. "2:23 pm, I think."

He writes the time down in his notebook. "Does the time mean anything to you?"

"No," she shakes head. It's just time of the day, how much can it mean to anyone? Maybe Dr. Edwards should seek for help, maybe he's going crazy from all the crazy people he has been working with. Is craziness contagious?

"Do you know what date today is?" he asks her, still scribbling something in his notebook.

"June 8th, 2013."

"Does today's date mean anything to you?"

"No. Should it?"

"Not so long ago today was a big day for you."

"Is there something I can't remember?"

"Yes. You're running away from the truth," he points out, "Or from reality."

So, people are hiding something from her after all.

Something that belongs to her. They have a power to make her remember, but they withhold it.

But do they?

Maybe they have a power to provide her with truth, but even if she receives it, would she remember?

If she doesn't she would be left with the feeling of something missing, of a big, black hole in her mind. She would know something is supposed to be there, but she wouldn't be able to place it.

Maybe it's better this way.

With that, she lets go of the idea of demanding the truth from Stefan when she comes home.

"Maybe I'm blocking it out for a reason," she tells the doctor, "Maybe I'm not supposed to remember," she indicates to him that she's better off this way.

At least now she knows why she's seeing Dr. Edwards. He's trying to help her remember.

What is so horrible she can't remember?

Maybe it's connected to the way Stefan has been treating her lately, avoiding her touch.

The question keeps tugging on her heart, but there's a war between her heart and her body - the unwavering, subconscious feeling she doesn't want to remember.

Dr. Edwards looks at her before closing his notebook, indicating that their session is over. "Maybe."

* * *

_**AN: So many questions. Is there something wrong in the way Stefan is treating Elena? Why is she seeing Dr. Edwards? What is that she can't remember?**_


	2. Chapter 2

When she came home that evening she knew Stefan is already there, like he usually is. Apartment was filled with the scent of lemon grass and apple which was bottled up in the perfume she bought him for Christmas even before they were married. His jacket was hanging on a coat hanger by the front door, on its usual spot, and his shoes were neatly placed by the small dresser in the hallway, just like she had taught him. He wasn't always as neat as he is now, his bachelor pad was basically one big trash can.

Experiencing this amount of normalcy gave her a false sense of security, feeling that everything is okay and that a piece of her memory isn't missing. By the time she took her shoes off and placed them next to Stefan's, the conversation she had with Dr. Edwards about an hour ago slipped her mind completely. Now, it was full of thoughts of how a pair of baby shoes is all that they need to make this picture perfect. She placed her free palm on her stomach, probably for the first time in her life disappointed by its flatness. The thought of baby growing inside of her filled her with desire and a certain amount of sadness. Something wasn't right with that thought. She tried to push it away, remembering she will be ovulating in few days and that this might be their lucky shot. Maybe third time isn't a charm. Maybe hundredth is.

When she entered the living room, she heard the water in the shower running. She bit her lower lip upon imagining Stefan under the shower, and got an unsatisfying desire to join him. She thought better of it, though. This morning he was anxious to hold her for the first time since what seemed to her like forever. It was like she finally broke through the barrier made of ice and regret with which he was shielding himself from her. She knew not to overstep her boundaries.

Maybe it was all in her head. If she's able to erase something from her memory, who is to say she can't fill her memory with something that isn't really there? Maybe she was holding herself back from Stefan and he was only surprised by her growing need for affection. Maybe now when she admitted to herself she made up a problem, the one she erased will come back on its own.

She gets the food out of the bag moments before Stefan walks into the kitchen in his pajama bottoms and a hoodie, since it's a little bit chilly, drying his hair with a towel. His hair seems golden under the kitchen lights. He comes so close to her that few water drops fly from his hair to her nose, and with one quick, swift brush of finger, he gets it off.

Her skin flickers when it comes in contact with his.

She smiles at him and his smile lingers in the air until he places his hands on her waist, his fingers traveling under the blue blazer and sinking into black, silky top. His thumbs go under the thin fabric and graze against her skin, leaving goosebumps as they travel all the way to her hips.

She gets drunk off of his smile, slightly curved lips on his face sending her into a trans.

His lips scrape against hers and bring her back to life. She can feel his hot breath on her mouth, even though the rest of his body is radiating with icy coldness. He always takes cold showers which is something she will never understand, or get used to.

_"Doesn't want to touch me, my ass,"_ she thinks to herself, relieved she only imagined this, but at the same time worried about the reasons which hide behind it.

He smiles against her lips, tucks his fingers under the hem of her pants and pulls her closer to him. Her chest crashes against his, and her heart starts pounding wildly, so wildly that she wonders can he feel it against his chest.

Then, slowly, at least that's how it seems to her, he presses his lips against hers like he's teasing her. He keeps planting little pecs on her lips, allowing her just a taste, making her so hungry for his kisses that she almost forces him to keep his lips against hers by force.

Before she manages to make her move, his lips crash against hers so hard, so pleasurably painful, that for a moment she loses her breath. She gives into and soon enough starts making her own contributions, their lips crashing into each other like waves during a storm, just these kind of waves could shatter a solid rock into million pieces.

"You smell like rain," he tells her after detaching his lips from hers. She wants to ask him what he means by that but is a little too busy with trying to catch her breath.

She changes into something more comfortable and they place themselves in front of the tv for dinner.

"Why aren't you eating?" she asks when she notices his dinner sitting in his hands, untouched, whereas she's almost done with hers.

"I have to come clean," he puts the box on the coffee table, "After work I went with guys for a burger," he makes an apologetic face, "I completely forgot we made plans for dinner. Forgive me?" he pouts, wiggling his lower lip in her direction.

She smiles at him and leans forward, kissing his lips gently. After she puts an empty box on the table her face adapts a serious face expression. "Stefan?" she says his name in the form of a question. He centers all of his attention on her. "Is there something I can't remember?" she asks, partly testing Dr. Edwards theory, partly wanting to see will Stefan tell her the truth.

He pulls his lips into a long, thin line and swallows hard before lowering his look and answering, "Yes."

"Is it big?" now it's her time to swallow, nervously expecting his answer.

He raises his look, watching her from under his eyelashes. "What do you think?"

Of course. If she made herself forget it, it must have been something big.

"Is that why you didn't want to touch me?" she says through a whisper, afraid to discuss it, "Is your detachment towards me somehow connected with what happened?"

He exhales, sounding like he's fearing this conversation as well. "I didn't touch you because I didn't know I can touch you," he explains.

She furrows her brows in confusion. "Meaning?" she asks.

"I wanted you to remember on your own, when you're ready, when the time comes. I didn't want to do anything to interfere with your recovery."

"What if I never remember?"

"You will," he sounds sure.

She lowers her look, producing silent, whimpering sounds.

"Is it my fault?" she asks curiously.

"Absolutely not," he says determined.

"Is it yours?"

"No."

"Could have it been stopped?"

"Probably."

"By either of us?"

"No."

She makes more whimpering sounds. He takes her into his arms, and her head crashes against his chest. She curls herself up against him, tight into his embrace, feeling tired all of a sudden. She can feel herself falling into deep sleep as rain starts sizzling outside.

* * *

It's not a dream, it's a memory.

She feels trapped inside of it, like an innocent bystander, and it takes her some time to realize where she really is. It's been such a long time since she's been at this place, and only one thing worth remembering happened here.

This is where she and Stefan met.

_She was standing by the bar, leaning onto one of the stools, trying to think of a way to get home. Caroline ditched her for some guy she met tonight, and she was her ride. Elena knew she should have come with her own car, but Caroline insisted, her way of saying thank you for dragging Elena out on a working day. There's no chance she's going to walk, it's too cold outside and she's too far away from home. It's been so long since she used a public transportation, she doesn't even know where the nearest bus stop is._

_The club was nearly deserted by now. Few people dancing, most of them slumping against the bar or nearby tables, drunk. Those who know better went home long time ago. She checks her phone. 4:15 am. Maybe she could call a cab._

_A guy in dark jeans and sky blue shirt sits himself on the stool beside her. The first thing she notices are his hands, fingers wrapping around the beer bottle. He can't be much older than she is but if we were to judge age by the condition of our skin he would have been few centuries old. The skin of his hands is rusty and sharp and red. Working hands. Not her kind of a man. She likes them in business suits, with polished shoes and briefcases. _

_But if we were to judge him on the skin of his face, he would be only few months old. His face is angelic, his jaw strong, wide, in a sexy kind of way. His eyes are tired, but beautiful nevertheless. Piercing green. His lips subtle, wine red, probably tasting as fine as they look. His shirt is tight on his body, he seems strong. He could probably lift her with the same easiness one would lift a piece of paper of a table._

_"See something you like?" he asks._

_Even though she was just glancing at him, trying not to be too obvious, he had noticed._

_"Not particularly," she answers._

_This makes him look at her. When he asked that question his look was straight forward, locked on a spot on the wall in front of him. But her comment made him smirk._

_"Isn't it a little bit too late for a girl like you to be out alone so late at night?" he hops off of the stool and puts his elbow on the counter, slowly sipping his beer, clearly enjoying it._

_She finds it interesting how his eyes don't roam all over her body. She doesn't consider herself a beauty queen, but she's very well aware of her looks. She's easy on the eyes, especially with her long legs which are, at the moment, bare to her thighs. He doesn't look at them, though. He keeps his look on her eyes._

_"Girl like me?" she knits her eyebrows together, trying to decipher what's that supposed to mean._

_His smirk gets wider. "Fine, nice, elegant girl," he compliments her in a way, even though he's just saying it as it is, describing what he sees before himself, "This is a tough neighborhood," he should know, he lives here. This place is a closest thing to his apartment._

_She smiles. "Maybe I'm not as fine as you might think I am," she keeps a devilish smile on her face, "Plus, I'm not scared," she brushes him off._

_"You should be, it's a scary world out there."_

_"I can manage."_

_He laughs lightly and the first thing that pops into her mind is what a beautiful laugh he has and she gets a desire to hear him laug from the top of his lungs._

_"What's your name," he drinks the last sip of his beer and pushes it on the counter._

_There's no way she's giving her name, or anything else, to this guy. She left her "bad boy" daydreams in High School. Now, she's more into mature, intelligent, sophisticated guys. "Buttercup."_

_"Lovely name."_

_Her face adapts a fake smile._

_"So, tell me Buttercup," he leans onto the counter, his look centered on the dance floor with not more than ten people dancing, "Are you in the mood for a dance?"_

_"I'm not looking for a one night stand," she spits out. _

_He laughs, unknowingly fulfilling her silent wish. "That makes two of us."_

_She laughs loudly. "And what could a guy like you possibly be looking for in a deserted club on a Wednesday night?" she rolls her eyes._

_"A guy like me?" he hums curiously, still looking in the direction of a dance floor._

_She never thought that will catch his attention. She thought he will try his best to deny it. Or flush because she's onto him. So he leaves her stunned, and speechless, and her silence makes him turn his head to her and lock his eyes with hers._

_"Look, I just got through a really bad break up," she grabs her purse from the counter._

_Lies._

_"Well, you know how they say, best way to get over someone - "_

_"Let me guess," she cocks her eyebrow at him, interrupting him in the middle of the sentence, "Is to get under someone else?" she says victoriously, finally proving what he's really after._

_"What I actually wanted to say is to get a slice of cheesecake, but your way has been known to be effective as well."_

_She flushes._

_"So, what do you say?" he smiles warmly at her, "Are you in the mood for a slice of cheesecake in a small bakery few blocks over with a complete stranger at 5 in the morning?"_

_Just as she opens her mouth to take down his offer, her stomach growls at the mention of a cheesecake. She hasn't eaten anything since lunch and she's starving._

_He grins. "I think your stomach agrees, Buttercup. What about you?"_

_Well damn._

_Guess she will have to grab a slice of cheesecake with a guy she knows nothing about and who can kill her as soon as they leave this place._

_But there is something about him. Nothing off, it's just.. he has that something._

_Is that cheesy?_

_Cheesy. Cheesecake._

_Her stomach growls again._

_"You know, you never told me your name," she grabs her jacket and starts walking towards the exit. He follows her, and when she doesn't ask him what the hell does he think he's doing, he takes it she agreed to his offer._

_"Stefan."_

_"Stefan," she tries it out, deciding it sounds tasty in her mouth, just as he probably would, "Nice to meet you," she pushes the door wide open, and when he doesn't launch himself at her with a knife, she sighs silently, out of relief._

_"Nice to meet you too, Buttercup."_

_"You know my name is not Buttercup, right?"_

_He stops walking and she turns around to see why he stopped. He puts his open palm on a spot on his chest where his heart is supposed to be and pretends to be surprised, "No!? You lied to me? I'm shocked," he grins._

_She smiles and shakes her head._

_"I didn't expect that from you Buttercup."_

_"I just told you my name is not Buttercup."_

_"I like the sound of it. Makes me want to go to a pet store and buy a cat."_

_"Well, stop calling me like that."_

_"Oh, Buttercup."_

_"I don't like it."_

_"Too bad, it stays."_

* * *

**_AN: This chapter is here to give you some more insight to their relationship since I jumped to them being married from the start :)_**


	3. Chapter 3

"How about him?" Stefan asks as they walk down the street, her arm under his, clinging onto him as if she's afraid wind will blow her away.

Few people who walk by them give them a strange look, but aren't most people weary when they see true happiness in front of their eyes? They scowl at its existence, maybe out of jealousy, maybe out of habit.

"Yeah, fake Rolex around his wrist is such a turn on," she jokes, pulling him closer to herself, hungry for the warmth his body provides her.

"He has a suit," Stefan points out, his look falling on a dark blue suit man in front of them is wearing, thinking how he would wear such a suit in special occasions only, and here's this man, walking in the middle of a street in one. Shirts, hoodies and jeans are more of his thing. You don't have to worry about wrinkles, plus it's way more comfortable than a suit. He was lucky his job didn't require wearing a suit unless he has a professional meeting. "I remember you saying you love men in suits," his lips brush against her ear, whispering in it silently, slowly.

She smiles gently, whispering right back, "I was a foolish, little girl. I know better now," she pulls her fingernail over his face seductively, smirking at him as their faces touch. There were times when she had thought men in suits and polished shoes and briefcases are more mature, and that she could spend the rest of her life with that kind of a man.

But truth to be told, she's not that kind of a woman. She doesn't like black blazers and black polished shoes, she likes thick, green hoodies in which she can bury her face in and comfortable Nike's in which he can run to the nearest 7 - Eleven during a storm to buy her ice cream. She doesn't like mature and serious, she likes playful and silly. She likes sloppy kisses on her neck and teasing in the middle of a restaurant, when he lays his hand on her thigh, like it's an innocent gesture.

If her stomach never growled at the mention of cheesecake, she would have never went with a complete stranger for a slice of cheesecake, she would have never met Stefan, and she would have never found out what she really wants.

The moment they sat down and started talking over a piece of the most delicious cheesecake she ever had in her life, she knew she doesn't want suits and grayness and maturity, even if they mean wealth in which she thought lies happiness. All of a sudden she realized she wants a sky blue shirt and rough, bruised hands, angelic face and piercing eyes, and to have a piece of that cheesecake every morning for breakfast.

She knew she wants Stefan.

"Why do we even play this game?" she furrows her brows, even though she knows the answer to it. She was the one who started it by accident, after a moment of jealousy. He accepted it. Not so long ago, she falsely accused him of staring at the woman in front of them, when actually he was looking at the baby on her hip, who was shielded from Elena's point of view. Until then she thought not being able to have a baby was her cross to bear. That her problems with conceiving were hers and hers alone. That was the farthest thing from the truth because, even though he never said anything, Stefan wanted a child as much as she did, and not being able to have one had hurt him deeply. He was simply selfless enough to put her pain before his own, and she repaid him by rudely commenting _"You probably wish you were married to her."_

The lines on his face stiffened, his jaw clenched, and he looked at her with so much pain in his eyes, but with splits of anger as well. If looks could kill, Stefan's was a double pointed dagger going right through her heart. She could only imagine how fiercely her words stung him if he looked at her like that.

To turn it into a joke, he started playing this game, _"Do you wish you're married to him?"_, every time they were walking down the street. In the beginning, she would only be reminded of the cruelty of her words, but after some time she accepted it as Stefan's way of pointing out to her that there's not a person he would rather be married to other than her.

"It's fun."

"I don't like it."

"Come on, Buttercup. If you weren't married to me, maybe you would be married to one of these men."

"But I am married to you. And I plan to stay married to you until the rest of my life," she squeezes his arm with her hand, allowing herself a certain amount of roughness, knowing he probably won't even feel it on his muscles, "I don't want to be married to anyone else."

She can feel his body go stiff for a moment, and catches a last glance of serious expression on his face, before he smiles and says, "Luckily for you, you don't have to be," and presses his lips against hers.

They stop in front of a small bakery, and he pulls his arm away from hers, reaching for his pocket. "Why don't you go in and take what we came for?" he smiles at her, "I have to make a call."

She just nods in understanding and turns around to open the bakery door. As the wooden door fly open, the bell makes a ringing sound. There are only few tables in it, but no customers. The walls are light yellow, the floor covered with black tiles, lacy, white clothes on the tables providing the bakery a warm, homey feeling. Her eyes fall on the counter, by which numerous of delicacies lie in a stand covered with glass, and when she notices a big, yellow, still not sliced cheesecake, she can feel herself slipping into another memory.

_"It's closed," she comments when they arrive at the small bakery, only few blocks away from the club, and notices the lights are out._

_"Maybe because it's 5 in the morning," he smirks at her, putting his hand on the doorknob and twisting it around._

_"What are you doing?" she asks in disbelief. Isn't darkness inside of the bakery and a sign hanging on the door, which says **closed**, good enough of a sign for him that the bakery is not working at this ungodly hour?_

_"Trying to get in, obviously."_

_"You can't break in!" she says, her voice rising. She should have known this will get her in some kind of a trouble. She knew, and she went with him anyway. Why is that?_

_As his hand still lingers on the doorknob, she can feel her adrenaline rising._

_This is exciting her. Being with a complete stranger in the middle of the night, when nobody is around, not knowing what will happen next or what his plans are. Everything is so unfamiliar and she doesn't know what to expect next, and it's giving her a rise._

_He lets go off the knob, turns around, which is when she notices a smile on his face, and his fingers dig inside of the pocket of his jeans. "Good thing I have a key, then," he takes out a hoop with few keys attached to it and rattles them in front of her._

_"You own this place?" she asks surprised as he pushes the key in the hole and opens the front door of the bakery. She remembers his hands, rusty skin as an evidence of hard work, and she thinks how baking cakes is not something that would damage his skin like that._

_"Yes," is all he says as he gestures for her to get inside, "Well, technically, my family does," he turns on the lights inside of the bakery and Elena's eyes wander over the interior. _

_Small place. Really small. Yellow walls with few portraits on them. White, lacy curtains on the windows. Matching cloths covering tables. Small, wooden tables surrounded by small wooden chairs. Shimmering tiles under her feet. And delicious food looking at her from other side of the room. She tries to will her stomach not to growl, but she knows her efforts are worthless. _

_"Do you bring all of the girls here?" she teases him, still buried in one place as he goes behind the counter and pops two soda cans open._

_"What girls?" he asks innocently, but rather seriously, while taking two plates out from under the counter. _

_She rolls her eyes, knowing he can't see her. When he gets the big, round cheesecake from the glass compartment, her eyes pop out, as well as her stomach._

_"Please, make yourself comfortable," he points to one of the tables with his look once he notices she's still standing at the door. Probably still a little bit weary about the whole situation._

_She comes closer to the table he pointed at, pulls out a chair and sits on it, pulling her black, leather jacket from her back. His look flies to her as she does so, but once again she notices he's not checking her out, but carefully watching the movements her hair makes as she pulls it out of the jacket where it got stuck. She doesn't say anything about it._

_He slides the knife through the middle of the cake and cuts two pieces out of it, placing one piece on each plate. He puts the plates and soda cans on the table, one in front of her, and the other in front of where he's about to sit._

_"So, where do you live?" he asks her as he takes the first bite of the cheesecake._

_She cocks her eyebrow at him. "As if I'm telling you."_

_He chuckles silently. "Fine," he shrugs, "I'll find out when I drive you home anyway."_

_She brings the fork so close to her face that she can smell the delicious cheesy filling._

_"Why do you think you're driving me home?" _

_He looks up from his plate to her and grins lightly. "Buttercup," is all he says, and somehow that puts her to ease. His calm voice as he says her newly given nickname calms her down, she stops building up walls between herself and the rest of the world, and accepts the idea of him driving her home. Maybe not just today._

_Cheesecake finally finds its way to her mouth, and as it touches the inner walls of her mouth, she almost moans out loud._

_Delicious._

_"I live at the new part of the town," she gives in. _

_He hums. "That's a nice neighborhood," he nods, "What do you do for a living?" he asks curiously._

_"I'm an interior designer," the answer escapes her. She feels like she can answer his questions freely. Maybe it's the cake. Maybe there's magic in it which makes her speak the truth. Her look becomes still on his hands. "And you?"_

_"I live nearby."_

_"No, I meant what do you do for a living?"_

_"I'm an architect." _

_She puts the fork down and crosses her arms on her chest. "Really?" she knits her brows together._

_"You don't believe me?" he asks slightly offended, even though he knows she has no reason to trust him._

_Her lips part slightly. "Your hands," words escape her in the form of a whisper._

_He glances over to his hands and winces when he realizes she's referring to the condition they're in. "I wasn't always an architect," he swallows, "I used to work in construction."_

_Well, that explains it._

_"Architects make good money."_

_"Decent amount."_

_"Why are you still living in this crappy neighborhood, then?"_

_"Because it's home."_

_Silence surrounds them._

_"Do you do this kind of a thing often? Pick up girls from - "_

_"I've never done it before," he interrupts her in the middle of the sentence._

_"Then why me?" her curiosity gets the best of her._

_"I like you, Buttercup," he smiles warmly in her direction and she can feel her cheeks turning red._

_"Why?" _

_Usually it takes people some time to warm up to her. It takes people some time to warm up to anyone, actually._

_"Why not?"_

_"Who does that?" she asks irritated by his answers which are really just questions, "No one believes their instincts, it's too dangerous. People wear too many masks and you can never be sure what hides beneath them. No one is insane enough to pick one person in the crowd and just.. like them."_

_"Clearly I am," he says calmly, amused by her words._

_This only gets her more aggravated. "How do you know I'm not a psycho? How do you know I don't have serious mental or health issues?" she inhales deeply before asking him her next question, "How do you know I'm not going to break your heart?"_

_He eyes her amused before he bursts into laughter. "You think too much," is all he says as he watches her cheeks flush with anger, and her chest fall and raise faster than it's normal._

_"I deserve an explanation," she says after few minutes she spends composing herself._

_He takes a sip of soda before puckering his lips and exhaling loudly, "Your fire burns brighter than anyone's else."_

_She blinks confused. "Meaning?"_

_"I watched you dance," he confesses, "And you don't dance out of the same reason the rest of the girls in that club do. You don't dance to be seen or to catch someones attention, you dance for yourself."_

_She should be scared. A stranger just confessed he had watched her dance without her being aware she's being watched. But she's not. She's intrigued._

_"You're not like the rest of the guys, either," she says silently, "And I don't just mean in the club, I mean in general. You haven't stared at my legs or looked inside of my cleavage, you kept looking into my eyes."_

_He smirks, glad she had noticed that. "Don't get me wrong, you have amazing legs," his smirk gets wider as he creates a mental imagine of her long, slender legs in his head, "And an amazing pair of.." he looks down at her chest and she blushes, "But maybe," he leans over the table, looking into her eyes, "Maybe I like what I see in here better."_

_Both of them keep quiet for a moment. She's convinced he's going to kiss her, and afraid she would have let him._

_But to her surprise he backs down and leans into his chair. "Finish your cake, Buttercup," he orders her with a pleading voice, "Then I'm going to drive you home."_

As the memory leaves her, the inside of her throat gets tight, and it keeps tightening with every passing second. Her whole body starts shaking, and her eyelids feel heavy, like she's trying to prevent herself from blinking.

She closes her eyes and when she opens them again, there's blood everywhere. It's pouring down walls, covering tiles, surrounding her, closing her in a small circle in the bakery.

She wants to scream, the plead for help, but she stops herself from doing so. None of this is real. This is her mind trying to play tricks on her.

Or trying to tell her something.

Something has happened here, something bad.

But what could happen in a place like this, place filled with pleasant memories?

"Elena, darling!" a warm, familiar voice pulls her away from the ugly picture in front of her. Stefan's mom is standing behind the counter, her long, sandy hair tucked behind her ear, and piercing blue eyes following Elena's confused, and somewhat scared look. "I haven't seen you in quite some time," she comments, looking at Elena worryingly.

_"Nonsense,"_ she thinks to herself, _"We had lunch only.."_ this is where she comes to a stop when she remembers the last time Stefan and her had lunch with his parents was almost two months ago.

"I'm sorry for that, I promise we will meet soon. I'm in a hurry, can I have two pieces of cheesecake?"

"Of course. How are you holding up, dear?"

She obviously knows about her memory loss, and is well aware with what had caused it. Stefan had probably told her.

She wants to ask. She comes so close to asking. But Stefan is right, she has to remember on her own.

"I'm trying," she smiles warmly, taking the pink box, which holds two pieces of cheesecake, in her hands.

"Of course," her husbands mother lowers her head, but before she does, Elena catches a look full of understanding and sadness, and maybe even pity, on her face.

"I better get going now," she smiles and before she knows it she's already at the door, pushing her way through the crowd, to Stefan.

* * *

"Tell me more about this incident in the bakery," Dr. Edwards insists, tapping with his pen on the edge of the notebook.

"There's nothing more to tell," she exhales exhausted, "The only thing I saw was blood. Lots and lots of blood," she cringes as she remembers.

"Was it yours?" the doctor asks.

"No," she shakes her head after giving it a second thought.

"It was someones else then?" he asks even though he sounds more like he's making a statement.

"The bakery was empty," she frowns, feeling like she's about to have a massive headache, "I don't know from where it came from, I don't know its source. It was like.." she stops, realizing how crazy she probably sounds, "It was like the walls were bleeding."

Upon hearing this he opens his notebook and writes something down.

"Did something happen there?" she swallows hard.

"Yes," he confirms.

Another tarnished memory.

She jumps on her feet, and Dr. Edwards follows her movements closely.

"You're one step closer, Mrs. Salvatore," he says calmly, "You have to be patient."

"I feel like I'm going insane," she hisses through her teeth, "I feel like a part of me has been ripped off. And I'm not talking just about my memories," she starts pacing around the room, "I literally feel like someone reached inside of me and pulled something out. I feel empty at all the places I'm supposed to feel full. I used to feel full," she declares truthfully.

"Loss is a big thing," he exhales silently, "To lose something, but continue living as if nothing had happened, it requires a great deal of heavenly strength. Some never succeed to deal with loss."

Shivers attack her spine. "And others?" she asks, "Those who succeed in it?"

"They spend the rest of their life with a hole in their hearts, but they spend it nevertheless, just more cautiously, and little less.."

"Alive?" she asks, even though she's finishing his sentence for him.

He looks at her from under his glasses. "Some losses are greater than the others. Like parents who lose their child. Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children. Or a mother who loses it even before she gets a chance to meet her child, knowing her body had killed this person she fell in love with since it was a size of a bean. Or a person who loses their better half, forever itching the place where their wedding band used to be."

"Imagine that," her throat tightens, "Spending the rest of your life treating love as if it's a memory."

"Who says they have to? The idea of one true love is a very romantic notion, but it's rare. Thousands of people lose the person they were in love with and they find happiness again. The more we love, the more love we have to give. We're not born with a limited amount of love we can give or receive, quite the contrary, with time those amounts only grow. Love is a very tricky thing, you see, it creeps up on you when you least expect it."

Doesn't she know it.

Still, the cold tone of his voice, and the way with which he handles the matter makes her tremble even though the fire is cracking in the fireplace few inches away from her.

"But I haven't experienced that kind of a loss," she states with force.

"You don't know what kind of a loss you had experienced," Dr. Edwards furrows his brows.

She can feel anger rising in her, almost suffocating her. "So how do I remember?" she raises her voice, "How do I deal with the loss? How does anyone?" she screams at him, frustrated.

But he stays composed. "Are you asking me as your psychologist, or as a friend?"

She didn't think of Dr. Edwards as a friend before. More as of an acquaintance.

"As a human being," she answers.

"The world does not care about your pain, Mrs. Salvatore," he takes his glasses off, "People are too busy dealing with their own pain to notice yours. I can't save you, your husband can't save you, no one else you might know can't save you. You're the only person who can save herself," she crosses his hands in his lap, his fingers intertwining, his knuckles as white as snow, "It takes a second for a heart to break, but a lifetime for it to heal."

_"Turn left here," she points at the small street, and he does as she says._

_He stops the car in front of a peach colored building with big white windows and even bigger white door._

_"I'd invite you in, but it's too early," she furrows her brows, "Too late, I mean. Or both," she looks to the other side, trying to avoid his smile, smile that can make her do anything he wants and say anything she doesn't._

_"I didn't offer you a ride because I expect something in return," he clears the air._

_"You didn't offer it at all," she pushes his buttons, "You told me you will drive me. I didn't have much say in it."_

_He tilts his head to the side, his voice warm and calming. "Buttercup," he says, making her relax, and she asks herself how does he manage to do that._

_"Thank you for the cake," she puts her hand on the door handle but doesn't find enough strength in her body to push the car door open._

_"Anytime."_

_She turns her head to look at him._

_"There will be no second time, you know that, right?" she raises her eyebrow at him._

_"We'll see," is all he says._

_"You drive me insane," she pulls her hand from the door handle and buries her face in her hands._

_"That makes two of us," he answers calmly._

_"This is crazy," she says through laughter, "I know nothing about you. You could be anyone. Everything you told me tonight could have been lies."_

_"True," he shrugs, "I could have lied to you. But then," he grins, "I could have been honest as well."_

_"Tell me a lie," she challenges him._

_"I absolutely don't want to kiss you right now."_

_She inhales through her teeth._

_"Tell me something that is true."_

_"This is only first of our many mornings together."_

_"Give me your phone."_

_He takes his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and gives it to her. She types something before giving it back to him. He looks at the screen. Her number. She saved it under the name Buttercup._

_She gets out of the car but before she closes the door she tells him, "Don't make me regret this." _


	4. Chapter 4

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Salvatore?" Dr. Edwards asks when he notices a blissful smile on her face.

She stays slumped on the couch, her back pressing onto the comfortable cushions, making her feel like she's floating on one of those fluffy clouds you can see during an especially nice and sunny nice, the blissful smile on her face exposing her true state of mind which is, for the first time after a long while, peaceful.

"Surprisingly well," she answers warmly, her hands crossed on her lap, the fingers of her hands intertwining with one another.

He looks at her amused, and she knows what that look means. It means that the next words that come out of his mouth will have an ability to shatter her current state of peace. So she tries to discard it.

"Do you consider that a progress?" he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose, "Or a regress?"

Those questions do not shatter her peacefulness, but they do make her think, and she lives in fear questions she derives from his questions will push her over the edge of sanity. She knows she's taking a dip in the poisonous lake of insanity, and wonders how long will it take for her to dive deep. It is not wanted, but it gives her a certain amount of freedom and emptiness she so desperately wants. It frees her from all the thoughts and questions and leaves her in silence.

And silence is good. It's fulfilling and relaxing, until it makes you completely and utterly insane.

"Both," she says after some time of thinking.

She wants to remember. She has to remember. There are too many gaps, too many questions, too many what if's.

At the same time she doesn't want to do anything to endanger her current state of happiness. Part of her wants to stay like this forever, in blissful ignorance.

"You will have to remember sooner or later," he states what she already knows.

She slumps her shoulders, and he notices her gesture. "I know," she says silently, even though there's a certain edge to her voice.

He furrows his brows. "Don't you want to remember?" he asks, somewhat displeased.

She raises her look to him and looks at him bewildered. "Of course I do."

"But?"

"But I haven't felt in ease for such a long period of time. I want to enjoy it."

"There are many things that can have effect on the easiness you feel. Everyday problems. Trying to remember is just one of those things. Maybe it doesn't even make you feel uneasy, maybe it does the opposite," he watches her from under his glasses.

"That's the problem," her eyes fill with tears which never escape, "Maybe it does this, maybe it does that."

After few seconds of carefully observing her, the doctor closes his notebook, indicating that he's done with experimenting with her behavior, and ready to give a real insight in her situation. "Unknown can often be scary. Some people find it luring, irresistible. To some people unknown is a definition of thrill."

She remembers the first time she met Stefan and how thrilling and exciting unknown felt. How every one of his moves pumped her with adrenaline as much as they scared her as well. Her wishes and desires mixed with the way he carefully planned every one of his actions.

But this kind of unknown is different. It's frightening in all its intensity. It's like dark, she knows there's something with the ability to cause her pain - but then again, it might be nothing. It might be old door cracking or wind playing with the branches outside of her window.

"There are people who fear of the unknown because its mere definition brings chills to their bones," he exhales, "_Unknown_," he says the word out loud like he's testing the way it tastes in his mouth. "Happiness is fleeting, Mrs. Salvatore," he licks his lips, "Memories aren't."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "Why do you treat life like that?" she asks with a sharp voice, "Like it's so fragile?"

"Ah," he gasps surprised, but delightedly, "Because it is. It is dangerous and safe, fickle and strong, easy and hard, but most of all, it's short."

Her eyes fly wide open upon hearing that. She tilts her head, "Life is the longest thing any of us will ever experience."

After her words sink in, he smiles, and once again opens his notebook. "Tell me, how does your husband feel about you seeing me?" he asks, curiosity dancing on the edge of his words.

She knits her brows, taken back by his question. "He was the one who suggested it."

He raises his look at her in surprise, but doesn't ask anymore questions about it. Instead, he asks, "Is there a special reason to why you feel such easiness?"

"No," she answers firmly, but she lies.

* * *

"I know this isn't a big turn on, or sexy at all," she says while lying on top of him on the couch in the living room, planting kisses on his jaw, "But I'm ovulating."

His whole body stiffens under hers, she can feel the muscles of his arms, which are around her, tightening. She stops kissing him, but doesn't raise her head from the position in which it's in, "I'm sorry. I don't want to put any pressure on you. On us."

His breathing becomes hard, and she can feel it prickling the skin of her cheeks. "And I don't want to let you down."

This catches her attention and she raises her look to face him. Her eyes lock with his.

"I don't want you to get your hopes up," he says silently, holding her look with his.

She lowers her head on his chest, her chin poking his muscles, bringing her hand closer to his face, her fingertips tracing the lines of his face. "What about your hopes?" she asks gently while caressing his face.

He closes his eyes and swallows hard, making his own throat burn with the words that come out of his mouth, "Your hopes are more important than mine. Your wishes, needs, everything of yours is more important to me than anything else."

She stops caressing him and pulls her hand away from his face, "Don't say things like that," she furrows her brows, making him open his eyes, "In this relationship we're equal. And I know you, Stefan. I know you want a baby as much as I do, even though you're less vocal about it. There's no need for you to be."

The lines of his face relax and he reaches for her hand, grasping it with his. He brings it closer to his mouth and starts kissing each of her fingers separately. "I want a baby. I want a family," he kisses her knuckles, "The thing is, I want all of those things, but with you. If you weren't a part of my life, I can't guarantee that I'd want all of those things just for the sake of having them. Before I met you I didn't even think about having a family, but you made me want it. It came so naturally, having you in my life, that I realized I want kids and a white picket fence and one of those dogs that drool a lot."

She chuckles. "I know the feeling," she raises her other hand to the level of his head and pulls her fingers through his sandy hair. "You made me look at life with a different pair of eyes."

"I hate how I can't give this to you," he inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring, but she's too busy with glancing at his eyes, trying to decipher what they hide, because through years he learned how to guard himself from the rest of the world, unlike her, who can't contain her feelings, no matter how hard she tries.

He says that's one of the things he loves the most about her. The way she feels and conceives emotion, with such empathy that is close to being pure. She holds a certain vulnerability he wants, but is afraid to possess.

"Well," she bites her lower lip, a smirk forming on her lips, "You can always try," her fingers start playing with the hem of his shirt.

He grins at her. "And try I shall," he tightens his grip on her, pulling her closer to him.

As his fingertips make contact with her bare skin, her brain falls asleep and sinks into another memory.

The first night her and Stefan spent together.

_It's been two months and four days since the night they met. She counted._

_She also counted the number of days it took him to call her after she gave him her cellphone number. Three. As the third day was approaching to an end, she had thought he will never call. She felt a pang of disappointment. And when her cellphone rang, she felt the same rush of adrenaline she did three nights ago._

_Stefan wasn't shy, but he was careful, and she came to understand that the night they met was a special, one time deal, which probably took him a large amount of strength to go through. _

_Through the course of getting to know him that was probably the only thing that annoyed her a little bit, but all of the other things had overshadowed that one little bit. He was careful with everything - with what he said, the way he looked at her, and where, even with those small, quick touches as he opened the door for her or pulled a chair out for her or held her jacket for her to put it on. Sometimes she had a feeling every one of his movements is carefully planned._

_Which is why she initiated their first kiss, which was electrifying, and which is why they slept the first time together in her apartment, since she knew she will have to initiate the next step as well._

_Feelings she developed towards Stefan in such a short amount of time terrified her. She never felt anything similar, and never knew she can. Half of the time she couldn't recognize herself._

_But the other half, she was exactly who she always has been, showing him parts of herself she never showed to anyone before, parts she kept locked deep down inside where no one could find them._

_After some time those two halves melted into one, and when they did, she never felt more like herself her entire life. _

_She could accept how comfortable she felt around Stefan, or even safe, which was quite the irony considering how she felt the night they met, but all of the other feelings were making her want to run away._

_They scared her - how vivid they are, all consuming, timeless - they scared her in all their intensity. _

_She found herself daydreaming about his smile, especially the way he smiled when he wasn't aware she's watching. She loved them all - smirks, grins, light smiles, sharp ones, chuckles, silent laughter and the loud ones - she especially loved them when they were directed towards her._

_She loved making him smile, and somehow, and out of some reason, just the sight of her had an ability to make him smile._

_The next thing in the row was the sound of her laughter, or when she would put a streak of her hair behind her ear, the swift way in which she enclosed her fingers around a glass, the way she moved on the dance floor, the way she walked and talked, and it wasn't long until the simple thought of her had an ability to put a smile on his face. _

_Or the way he touched her, in a, oh, such a delightful way. His fingertips were already imprinted on her lower back, where he would always put his hand to guide her inside of a restaurant. Her waist was next - the way he would freely lay his open palms around her waist, squeezing her slightly, guiding his hands over to her hips, but never lower, and never further._

_The skin on her cheeks was softer because of his touch, and his fingers would always leave red spots on it, which would disappear in a matter of few seconds, or maybe they would sink into her body._

_But her favorite, oh her very favorite, was when he tried to reach for her hand. When his wrist would linger next to hers, when he would brush his fingertips over her knuckles, slowly leading his fingertips over the length of her fingers, and her favorite part was when he would press their fingertips together because that was the time she wasn't sure where she ends and he begins. In the end, their fingers would lace around each other, and her heartbeat would become slower, and at that moment, she was best friends with peace._

_His kisses were - sometimes light, like a summer breeze, sometimes hard, like an avalanche, sometimes lazy and sloppy, like Sunday afternoons, and sometimes passionate, like a fire coming your way, igniting your bones, allowing you to shine, but not burn - his kisses were her salvation._

_So after two months and four days after their first meeting, for the first time she was glad he is so careful. _

_Because the careful way he had touched her, no one ever touched her like that. He unzipped her little red dress without flinching, looking her in the eyes all the time, allowing her to sink into him, or wanting to sink into her, she's still not sure._

_There wasn't anything raw about the want and need she had noticed inside of his eyes, which was at the same time probably the first time he had allowed her to see what's going on behind those beautiful green eyes which hold all of the mysteries of her heart._

_Beside want and need and passion, even a little bit of hunger, she had noticed, at that moment, unexplained fear and sadness and loss, which she thought has nothing to do with her, but in reality, it had everything to do with her._

_He took off her bra and her panties, and for the first time she liked feeling helpless, under someone's else command. She doesn't even remember when he had time to discard his own clothes, she only remembers he made love to her for what it seemed to her like hours. _

_She remembers his kisses, sour and sweet, his touch, gentle and rough, the way he removed her hair from her face to look into her eyes, and he held her look with his like he's holding a droplet of water on his palm - the same way he had held her. She remembers him breathing into the crook of her neck, and her clinging onto him like she's holding on for dear life._

_Afterwards, he had whispered to her, "You're my heart," and she knew exactly what he means by it._

_She knew it's not love._

_It's something more._

She sinks out of the memory and realizes some things never change - like the careful way in which he handles her, or the way his fingertips sink into her skin, leaving a permanent mark there.

His touch is a tattoo made with an invisible ink for only her eyes to see.

"I love you," she whispers to him.

He doesn't say it back. Instead, he says, "What I feel for you is so much more than love."

He takes her breath away -_ literally_ - with his next kiss.

For a moment she feels like she's floating out of her own body.

"It's like all the starts gathered into one constellation and pointed me to you, and when I finally saw you I thought of how, _oh_, so beautiful you are, and how you're mine, because I refused to believe my heart could ache so much over something I can't have - it would be too cruel. I saw fire burning and sea crashing against big, white rocks, and when you finally spoke I realized the voice of my thoughts is yours. You're a part of me, deepest part of me that knows me better than I even know myself, and the reason why I treat you so carefully is because you're my heart - if you break, I break as well."

"You're my heart," she whispers into his ear, but shudders, because if he ever leaves, how is she going to survive?

"No," he nuzzles his nose against hers, "You're my heart. I'm only half of yours."

She wants him to ask what he means by that, but she forgets as waves of pleasure possess her body, and she moans loudly.


	5. Chapter 5

_His eyes were as green as a clover in early autumn. She called him her lucky boy._

_Even though she met him as a grown up man in his late twenties, he managed to keep that boyish charm and childlike posture she liked so much, and he told her he kept it only for her._

_Because he knew she will come one day, and he wanted to show her a glimpse of what she had missed out on since she didn't arrive sooner._

_She found out a lot about him in a short period of time. She found out that his first kiss was with a girl named Ashley behind her fathers farm in a small town in which his grandma had lived and he spent numerous summers at. She was certain his favorite smell is the sweet smell of blood red apple, but he had let her know his favorite smell is the smell of her hair on his pillow in the morning, and that everything he liked before that doesn't matter, but she knew he enjoys the smell of coffee in the morning as well. He enjoys all types of music, especially hearing her speak, and his favorite movie is "Gone With the Wind" which she found incredibly cliche, but didn't say anything. For a girl who had seen "The Notebook" more times than there are days in the year she didn't have any right to say a thing. His favorite color is blue, the only thing he enjoys reading are architectural magazines, he's not all that neat - he hires a lady once a month to do some serious cleaning - he says his mess is the reflection of his mind which, for a guy who doesn't like to read, she found incredibly poetic. She's not much of a cook so she was relieved when she found out his favorite thing to eat is a cookie smeared with Nutella across it, and that he mostly eats out._

_She fell in love with those things as well as she fell in love with the careful and gentle way he touched her, or the way his lips fit perfectly into hers, or how his fingertips would sink into her skin every time they made love. She was shy to admit that she made love for the first time at the age of twenty seven. Everything before that was just sex._

_Maybe this was the first time she truly fell in love as well._

_Or maybe this was the first time she didn't fall in love with the thought of love._

_She fell in love with a man. A man who embodied every thought she ever had of love._

_Her eyes were like chocolate - some days dark as the night itself, and some as light as a chestnut deep into the fall - but deliciously luring nevertheless. She envied him on the color of his eyes because they were rare, the rarest in the world, and hers were ordinary, you could find them on every other person on the face of the Earth. He strongly disagreed, telling her she has the most beautiful eyes in the world, and that he doesn't even care for the color - there's not a set of eyes he would rather wake up to. He loved two light, barely visible freckles in the close proximity of her nose, and he would always kiss that spot before kissing her subtle, pink lips. Soon he discovered all of her ticklish places but did not take the knowledge in his advance, but rather used it to lighten up the mood after a hard day at work. She would never admit that she's addicted to gummy bears but he knew she has a secret stash in the bottom drawer of the nightstand, as well as he was aware of shoes she kept stacked in boxes under her bed. He admired the way she's passionate about her work, because he was the same, which is exactly why he had let her remodel his apartment, step by step, even though she thought she's being sneaky about it. After only a month he emptied a drawer of his dresser for her to keep her things in, but said nothing when he noticed a tear in the corners of her eyes when he had showed it to her. He would tell her she's beautiful every chance he got, even when she had no make up on, when her hair was tied into a messy bun, and she wore his hoodie underneath which she only had her boxers. She didn't believe him, but he had thought that's when she looks the most beautiful, most like herself._

_When he looked into her eyes, he knew he's making eye contact with love herself._

_And oh, she was so beautiful._

"I have to know!" she yells frustrated, throwing her hands in the air, above her head.

Dr. Edwards eyes her amused, "Is this sudden mood change new to you?" he asks, and she directed him a confused look, like she doesn't know what he's talking about. "Few days ago you were uplifted and full of life. _At ease_. What changed?" he explains his earlier question by asking her another question.

"Nothing," she replies frustrated, "Everything," then, she sighs tiredly, "Things change every second, we just don't notice them. Sometimes that change turns your life around, and we choose not to notice it," she stifles a whimper as she looks at him, "That's what happened to me, isn't it?" she pulls her lips into a long, thin line, "My life turned upside down and I chose to ignore it."

Doctor pushes himself out of his chair as his eyes grow wider, "Does that mean you remember?" he asks hopefully, but he knows the chances are low. If she remembered, she wouldn't be as calm as she is now.

"No," she shakes her head, confirming his suspicions, and he leans back into the chair, "But I want to."

He exhales a hot stream of air. "We have discussed this before, Mrs. Salvatore, your memory will come back gradually if you open yourself up to it."

A desperate laugh escapes her throat. "Don't you see that's where the problem lies?" her eyes fill with tears, "My memory won't come back to me, no matter how much I invoke on it. I know it's there. I can feel it pressing onto my brain like a rock, applying pressure on everything else I try to do. In some situations the pressure is stronger, which is when I know my brain is trying to tell me something, but the pain is too strong to go through with it - so I give up. I've been giving up for weeks now."

She locks her eyes on his, but he doesn't seem convinced enough to tell her the truth. She pulls her long, slender fingers through her hair. "I've been thinking about finding it out from someone else. My friends are good in keeping secrets, but they can't hide that look in their eyes - the look by which I know there's something wrong. But I could always find information at the police, or hospital, or papers. If something happened to me, something that made me forget it, I'm sure one of those three sources were involved," when she looks up at him again there's a fearful look on his face, like he's wondering did she really go through with it. "I was too scared to do it, though," she watches the lines of his face relax, "I was too scared I will find out what happened, but that I won't actually remember it. Can you imagine anything worse than knowing what has happened to you, but cannot being able to remember it?" she asks, but she doesn't let him answer, nor does she expect an answer to that question because no matter what he would say, she can't imagine anything worse. "But I can't go on like this. My life is falling apart. I am falling apart. I don't want to remember in the middle of the street. I could have went to someone else for my information, but I came to you. So please, help me," she pleads while standing next to the window, watching rain drip down the glass.

After few moments of silence, doctor exhales loudly and says, "Very well, Mrs. Salvatore. Please, take a seat."

She does as he asks, but even before she gets a chance to sit, he asks, "Do you remember why you started seeing me?"

She shakes her head no.

"At first, it was a routine procedure. I work with hospital pretty closely, and even though I don't work there, they send me a handful of patients," he throat tightens at the mention of a hospital, "I was ready to release you from seeing me the day when your.." he stops for few seconds, "Memory loss happened," he clears his throat through a cough. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?" he asks one more time, and she nods her head in confirmation. "A little more than a month from today, on May 8th 2013, while you were at work, you had received a call," she remembers him asking does the date June 8th mean anything to her, and she shudders, but keeps her posture, "They called you from the hospital, telling you your husband has been shot in front of his family's bakery," she starts shaking her head, thinking how nothing adds up. Stefan was supposed to be at work at the time, not in front of his family bakery. Also, him getting shot can't be the reason she lost her memories. He got better. She had seen him this morning. He's probably already home now, taking a shower, counting minutes until she comes home as well.

_No. Stefan is okay._

"When you got to the hospital, at 2:32 pm," the time when the old grandfather clock in their apartment stopped ticking. Stefan's clock, the only piece of furniture he brought with him when they moved in together, she remembers, "His heart stopped beating."

_No. His heart is still beating. Maybe it stopped for a second, or a minute. Sometimes it happens. But they revived him. Stefan is at home now. He's waiting for her. He's fine._

"Mrs. Salvatore," doctor calls her name, "Your husband is dead."

* * *

_**AN: I do apologize for keeping you wait this long, and for such a short chapter. I wanted to write something, but I simply had no time for a longer chapter. I promise you next one will be longer, since next week I have less exams than I had this week.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_He can't be dead. Not her green eyed boy who was stronger than life itself. With a wide smile that was showing his perfectly ordered white teeth, and small, barely visible dimples on his cheeks, which he often claimed were only a part of her imagination. With eyes as green as the most vivid color on a painting, and sandy hair which stood proudly on the wind, and whose strains only her fingers had an ability to disrupt. Not her husband with whom she was supposed to start a family and grow old together until time takes them both away._

"Mrs. Salvatore, do you need another glass of water?" Dr. Edwards asks, and she squeezes the existing glass in her hands with her fingers.

_Mrs. Salvatore, _her own name appears in her thoughts. If Stefan is dead, is she still allowed to wear his name? If he's gone, can she still be Mrs. Salvatore? If yes, how, when there's no Mr. Salvatore?

"No," she says silently, slowly shaking her head first left, then right.

Doctor watches her carefully as she sits still on his office sofa, wondering has he done a big mistake by telling her the truth. Her time has been up five minutes ago, but luckily, he doesn't have another patient for another hour, and he can't just throw her out like this. Not without an explanation. It's not professional, nor is it humane.

"Are you trying to tell me he's not real?" she says after few minutes of silence, parting her lips only enough to allow the words to escape through the small crack, "Are you trying to tell me I've been seeing him for a month when he wasn't really there?" she whimpers helplessly.

"Oh," doctor gasps surprised, like he didn't expect her to ask such questions this soon, "I believe he's very real for you. When you came to me for the first time you were in absolute shock, you looked like you haven't slept, or eaten anything, in days. You didn't even want to talk. We spent our first session in silence."

The memory invades her mind. A picture of her, in her early thirties, only a month before, sitting on the doctors sofa with a messy bun she usually only wore in her own home, wrapped in one of her husbands hoodies. She can't even recognize the woman in her memory, even though the woman is her. She is struck by grief and loss and there's big nothingness in her eyes, which aren't brown, but black. Two, wide black holes on white background.

"This is not unusual," doctor speaks again, pulling her out of her memory, "After a grave loss, people tend to go through a shock, and as a way of coping they create false reality. Some dig themselves in it more than the others. After our third meeting you started getting better. I thought our conversations are good for you, and that you're starting to move on. I wanted to dismiss you from my service on our fifth meeting, which is when you started talking about your husband as if he were still here. I felt it's unwise to throw the truth in your face, and my professional opinion was that it might harm you."

"So you let me believe my husband is alive?" she asks a little angrily, thinking how all of this could have been stopped a lot sooner, and her pain would be lesser.

Dr. Edwards sighs loudly, holding her look with his. "At the time, even if I told you the truth, you wouldn't have believed me. It would have been too much of a shock to you, so I decided to ease the news to you. Let your mind tell you itself."

"It didn't tell me anything!" she yells frustrated, tears forming in her eyes.

"It did," doctor stays as composed as ever, "You knew there's something wrong, something missing, you could have felt it. And I'm sure there are little things.." he tries to explain it to her the best he can, "Sink into your memory, and there will be million of little things that are different. You created a pretty accurate reality for yourself, but still, there are little details which are off. Try it."

To her own surprise she closes her eyes and tries to find them. She pokes through her memory, trying to find things that don't belong there.

She finds them. Stefan never ate, he always had an excuse. There weren't any papers or designs on his work desk, indicating he hasn't actually been to work for weeks. He hasn't received any of the calls, and his phone used to ring non stop. When they went to the bakery, he didn't even go in to say hello to his mom. Nor did she ask how Stefan is doing.

Million of little things she had let pass by because they seemed too little and irrelevant.

"Can you see them?" doctors voice intrudes, and she snaps out of it.

"Yes," she whispers weakly.

"That's your brains way of telling you something is out of place. You just weren't able to pick up on the signals."

She refuses to open her eyes, trying to find more signals, but doesn't catch up anything. Everything turns into a blur when Dr. Edwards speaks again, "I got a little bit confused when you said it's your husband who suggested you to go to therapy, though," this catches her interest and she slowly opens her eyes.

"Why is that?" somewhere within her, she finds enough strength to speak.

"People who create their own reality do it because they need a safe place, and they tend to stay there. Your safe place is by your husband, and him telling you to get out of it contradicts the whole purpose of why you created this false reality."

"Why do you call it reality when it's not real?" she asks, a little bit aggravated by the term.

"Oh, but it is real," he responds joyfully, "To you, that is. It's your reality. It's a very powerful thing, if only people could use it for a different purpose and with a different motivation."

She closes her eyes once again, trying to shut the doctor out. Trying to shut everything out. False reality, real reality, she wanted none of it. She wanted to be gone, to flee, to abandon this place and follow Stefan. No matter how hard she tried, her lungs didn't stop getting filled with air.

"There's one more thing I can't quite understand," he says amused.

She chuckles desperately. "Just one?" she exhales, "You must be a lucky man."

Even though she doesn't ask for further explanation, he continues, "When these things happen to people, they tend to turn to depression. They have what they want, but still feel like something is not right, so they get confused and slowly fall into depression. You, on the other hand.." his words make her look at him one more time, "You seem so full of life. So bright and hopeful," he crinkles his nose, annoyed he can't get at the bottom of it. "You also kept moving on with your life. People in your situation usually get stuck in one place, they keep reliving the moment. You insisted on going back to work, you kept living your life as it was," he frowns irritated by this puzzle, "You also said you're able to touch him?"

She swallows, and it makes her throat burn. She was able to do more than just touch him. She was able to kiss him, hug him. Make love to him. "Yes," she says sheepishly, "Is that not normal?"

That question gives her a chance to laugh internally. Like any of this is normal.

"He should have been a projection in your mind," he takes his glasses off of his nose to clean them, "He shouldn't be able to have his own thoughts or wishes or ideas, he should be completely under your control."

Elena swallows down the thought that something is completely off in this completely off situation. "Can I go home now?" she asks with a certain sharpness to her voice.

After few moments of silence, he responds, "Of course."

* * *

She doesn't take the bus like she usually does, but walks home. She remembers the weird looks people gave them that time they went to the bakery. She must have seemed crazy to them, laughing all by herself in the middle of the street. Or maybe she hasn't even left her home. Maybe she was on the couch for the whole day, imagining it. Maybe weird glances people were giving them were one of those signals her brain was sending to her to let her know something is wrong about which Dr. Edwards talked about.

Her life must have been highly embarrassing the last few weeks. Everyone knew, though, except her. She was living her fantasy and.. and Stefan's mother had to put up with it while grieving over her own son.

Grieving. Something she never had a chance to do. And now there's so much more going on to just grieve.

Her husband is dead. The love of her life is gone and she can't even remember shedding a tear. She can remember the shock and the sadness, but she can't remember the tears. There was tiredness and hunger, but no tears.

She can't even remember the moment she decided to let it all go in order to sink into her own little world where Stefan was alive and well.

Even now when she knows the truth, when she feels the weight of sadness finding a home in her chest, she can't make herself cry. There are no tears, only millions and millions of unanswered questions.

Doesn't she love him enough? Or does she love him too much?

Why is she so weak? Or is she just too in love? Is love really a weakness?

Oh, yes. Love is the biggest weakness of them all. As much as it can be a source of strength and happiness and everything good you want from life, it can also throw you in such despair and make you go.. crazy.

_Crazy._

Was she crazy? Was she insane? Did this happen to her because of the poor strength of her character, or because there's something wrong with her?

She arrives to her apartment, and the weight on her chest becomes bigger. Heavier.

Will Stefan be there now when she knows the truth? Will she hear the water running and smell the sweet smell of his apple perfume and feel his rough hands on her delicate skin or his luscious lips meeting her subtle ones?

_No._ He will never shower again, and the sweet apple smell will never fill up her nostrils, and his rough hands will never touch her skin again, and neither will his lips. He's gone and he's not coming back.

This is a part where she should cry, right? But she doesn't, she can't. She invites tears like they're an old friend but they never come.

She puts the key in the lock and turns it two times.

Stefan won't be there because she made him up. Now when she knows that she won't make him up again.

She knows the truth and the truth is, as harsh as it might be, he won't be there.

The lock accepts the key, and she opens the door. For a moment she hopes Stefan will be there, in the shower, on the couch or anywhere else for that matter. She hopes all of this has been one big joke and that her Stefan is alive and well. She wouldn't even ask for an explanation to why would Dr. Edwards play such a cruel joke on her.

He's not there, though. All of a sudden, the apartment seems empty. Like something is missing. Maybe it's him, maybe it's his scent, maybe his green eyes or a quivering smile, maybe all of it combined.

She steps in and..

And her heart breaks all over again.

She's alone. She hasn't been alone in a very long time. She thought she will never have to be alone again. Or at least she had hoped.

Her cheeks become red, and her eyes become puffy. She's ready to cry. She begs the tears to come to her, but they never do. She stands in the hallway for about fifteen minutes, waiting for them to come, but just like Stefan doesn't make an appearance, neither do them.

_You're all alone now, little girl_, her mind tells her.

Funny, in her early thirties, and on some level she still thinks of herself as a little girl. Maybe because she still is one.

People talk about being strong and confident and independent. She was all of those things since childhood. She was strong as a five year old, holding her baby brothers hand, as two nice people took them from the orphanage to their new home. She was also strong when, after her parents died, she was left alone in the orphanage while someone took her baby brother away. They didn't want two kids, and the older kids told her they always go for a baby. Someone they will be able to make theirs. They brought her baby brother back maybe a month after they took him away, and all she found out is that people who took him in the first place were bad people who should never take care of children. She was confident as a twelve year old when other children called her an orphan, and she was independent in college, when she moved away on the other side of the country.

Being all those things wasn't her choice. She didn't grow up to be strong and confident and independent, she was born like that. She had to be like that for her sake and the sake of her brother.

So when she met Stefan she didn't want to be strong or confident on independent. She wanted to be loved and cuddled and smaller than a bean in his hands. She wanted to feel like a little girl for once in her life.

Well, she got her wish, because standing in the apartment the two of them used to share feels the same as standing in front of an orphanage, watching them take her baby brother away.

She was a little girl and she had all of the vulnerabilities of a little girl.

Once she realizes she can't will tears to her eyes, she exhales tiredly and walks over to the living room. She takes her jacket off and throws it on the couch.

"Messy, messy," the voice coming from behind her makes her throat tighten, "As far as I remember we have a hanger in the hallway for jackets and coats," she squeezes her eyes one more time and turns around.

There he is, in his yellow hoodie and light, washed up trousers, leaning against a wall which is separating the living room from the kitchen. His hand is as sandy and as wild as it always has been, and his lips are pulled up into a smirk, like they were most of the time. He keeps his arms crossed on his chest. Nothing about him was made up.

Everything seems so real. He seems so real.

"You're late," he says once he realizes she's not going to say anything.

He doesn't say it angrily. He says it as an observation.

A hot stream of air comes out of her mouth before the words struggle their way out, "You're not real."

This doesn't come as a shock to him, but the smirk disappears from his lips. "You remember?"

"You shouldn't be here," she shakes her head confused, "How are you still in my head even after I remembered?" she asks herself more than she asks him.

He knits his brows together. "I'm not in your head," his arms fall beside his body, "Elena, you're not imagining me," he states.

This catches her attention and she stops shaking her head. He only calls her by her name while they're discussing a serious matter. For all the other occasions he uses the nickname he had assigned her.

"Dr. Edwards said - "

"Dr. Edwards knows less than he would like to believe," he interrupts her in the middle of her sentence.

Silence looms above them. She drowns in it, and he lets her.

"Are you an angel?" she whispers, letting some time pass between each spoken word.

He chuckles. "Buttercup, both you and me know I've never been much of an angel."

Usually she would laugh, or smile at least, but in this situation she doesn't find enough strength to do so.

"A ghost then?"

He folds his arms across his chest again. "Something like that."

"But you are.." something gets stuck in the middle of her throat and she can't force herself to finish the rest of her sentence.

"Dead?" so he does it for her, like he usually did, "Yeah, I am."

She makes a whimpering sound, but still no tears. She feels ashamed. What must he think of her - he's dead and she can't even shed a single tear for him. "How?"

He keeps looking at her with those big, green eyes, but there's something different about them. "People die, Elena."

Her eyes grow wider in shock. "That's your response? People die?"

"That's life."

He makes the blood in her veins boil. This Stefan is nothing like her Stefan and for a second she thinks she really did make him up - a slightly different version of him, so it's easier for her to say goodbye.

"That's life," she breathes out his words, "Why are you here?" she brushes him off.

"I have unfinished business."

"I want you to go."

This surprises him. "What?"

"At least for now," a pang of guilt attacks her, "I need time to think, and to rest."

He wiggles his lips, "Fine," but accepts her response nevertheless.

Before he disappears, he gives her his _I'll be back_ look, and once he disappears, so does a part of her.

* * *

_**AN: I hope things are a little bit clearer now, and if not, the rest will be explained in the upcoming chapter :)**_


	7. Chapter 7

She decided to cancel her next appointment with Dr. Edwards. She told him she needs some time for herself, to rest and to think, and that she will be seeing him next week. To her surprise he was understanding enough of her needs, and accepted her excuse with no questions.

Over the weekend she met up with her friends and told them she remembers everything now. She kept apologizing to them for putting them in such a situation even though they kept saying there's no need to apologize. It's okay to be messed up after something like this. It's okay to crack and let them stitch you up, and it's okay if you crack again under those stitches.

She still felt ashamed and guilty, especially in front of Stefan's mom, from whom a chance to grieve was taken because of her crazy daughter-in-law. In many ways Stefan's mom was the only family she was left it, and it could also go the other way around. Her adoptive family and her brother were on the other side of the country, and Stefan's dad was diagnosed with early stage of Alzheimer's few months ago, so he's slowly fading away, while Damon, Stefan's older brother, moved to Europe for his fiance.

Elena was blessed with three mothers, her own, who gave birth to her, one who adopted her and raised her, and one who took her in when she was left with nothing. Elena still talks to her parents even though she's not as close to them as Jeremy is. Her mom calls her once a week, and she remembers to call home once or twice a month herself. They were at her wedding and her dad gave her away, and she took Stefan home to meet them even before they got engaged. She loves them, she respects them, but mostly, she's thankful to them. She knows they're the reason she got to stay with her brother, that they're the reason she got to keep her only family. They gave her everything and even though they're not her biological parents they never acted as she's not theirs. She started calling them mom and dad with a heavy heart, but for her brothers sake. She knew her real parents never meant to leave her. They never abandoned her, they got into an accident, and accidents happen. Jeremy doesn't remember them, he wasn't even able to talk when they died, but Elena does. She called them _mommy_ and _daddy_ and held their hands and her mother read her bedtime stories and her father fed her with ice cream. When she was little she used to cry herself to sleep at night, begging them to forgive her for betraying them and calling strangers by how she should be calling them. But as she grew up, she accepted life as it came.

She didn't tell anyone she had seen Stefan even after she remembered the truth, not even Dr. Edwards when she went to see him next week.

She gulps a cold glass of water and takes a pill to calm her nerves before sitting in the middle of a couch, closing her eyes and exhaling his name. "Stefan," she says, warmly and silently, a picture of him popping into her mind as his name escapes her lips.

"I'm here," he says instantly, making her open her eyes.

She's leaning against a wall, in the same position she had seen him the last time before she asked him to go away. It's like he has been there all this time, she just wasn't able to see him.

Maybe he was. Where else would he go? This is his home.

"I'm ready to talk," she looks into his eyes.

There's a barrier in them. Something that's not allowing him to look at her the way he had used to. Like she's the most precious thing in the world. It stings all over her body. Her skin, her insides, but mostly her heart, which is beating wildly.

He nods understandingly, indicating for her to continue.

She parts her lips to speak which is when she realizes she has nothing to say. She laughs internally, because there are so many things she could ask him. He probably has all of the answers to the universe, he could probably tell her whatever she wants to know.

"I don't know anything," he states, and it takes her some time to realize she didn't say anything out loud, "I know as much as I knew when I was alive. Somehow it seems I know less, or maybe this is how it's always been. Maybe I've always had this limited amount of knowledge and I wasn't even aware of it," his eyes wander over her figure, but they're still indecisive, "I can't tell you anything," he finishes sadly.

"How do you do that?" she swallows even though there's nothing there for her to swallow, "How do you know what's on my mind?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out," he answers her question honestly, seeming confused himself, "It's not like I can read your thoughts. The only thoughts of yours I can hear are the ones directed to me. When you think about me, I can hear your voice in my head. I was confused myself when it happened for the first time."

She remembers the first time she swore she didn't say anything out loud, but he was still able to hear it. She remembers the confusion on his face, as well as surprise, and she concludes he's telling the truth.

She even mentally slaps herself four doubting him. This is Stefan, he would never lie to her, dead or alive.

She nods in understanding.

"Can you.." she furrows her brows, trying to ignore the new acid taste in her throat, "Can you tell me what it's like?" as she says those words she thinks how weird this situation is and how she's probably losing her mind.

Maybe she's ready to lose it, just to speak with Stefan for one more time, even if this isn't real, even if this isn't really happening.

"It's freaky how much _Ghost Whisperer_ got it right," an amused smile appears on his face, "You either cross over, or you stay here. There's only one difference," he bites his lip, and she looks at him with look full of interest, "You don't know to where you'll cross, up or down."

Her throat tightens.

"They told me I need to cross over - "

"They?" she asks curiously, interrupting him in the middle of a sentence.

"Yeah, they don't really have some awesome name like you see in the movies. They're just a bunch of guys. Like a border control for dead people."

"So how come you're still here?"

"I didn't want to cross over obviously," he shifts his weight on the other leg and Elena notices how this is the first time he had moved, which is strange, since Stefan has always been so impatient. "I was so confused, I had no idea what's happening to me. I was with you, screaming, but you couldn't hear me. I just - " he chokes on his own words, showing any sign of emotion since she remembered, "I just wanted to talk to you," he calms himself down, "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, how I never meant to leave you. They were telling me I need to go, that my presence is harming you," she wants to jump at him and throw her arms around his throat, to tell him his presence could never, ever harm her, but she stops herself from doing so, "So I told them I'll go if they give me a chance to make sure you're alright. I asked them to give me time until I'm sure you will be fine."

She holds his look with hers, cautiously, like she's holding fire in her hands. "I'm your unfinished business," she gasps.

He has no other choice but to nod in confirmation. "I'll be here until you decide it's time to move on."

She looks at him confused, but then bursts out laughing. "Move on?" she manages to say somewhere in between the fits of laughter, "What makes you think I'll ever move on?" she asks amused, but then she frowns, "You can't just move on from something like this. You are the love of my life, Stefan, and now you're gone," a person would think saying these words out loud would bring tears to her face, but the tears don't come, "You're dead, so I might as well be dead too," her expression becomes bitter.

"You're not dead," he replies in shock.

"Then why do I feel like it?" her voice becomes silent, low.

He exhales, and she finds it weird, because dead people don't breathe. He makes a few steps forward, but doesn't find enough courage within himself to move to where she is sitting.

"Elena, these things happen, and we can't change them, no matter how hard we try. I would give anything to spend the rest of my life with you, but my life is no longer in my hands."

Her whole body starts trembling. "But why do these things happen?" she raises her voice a little, showing a little more emotion than she initially intended to.

He shrugs it off, like it's nothing. "They just do, and trying to find a reason to why they happen will only drive you crazy."

"I already am crazy," she whispers, mostly to herself, but he hears it nevertheless.

He sighs, something Stefan always did. "Elena, until I met you, I wasn't really alive. I didn't even know it at the time, I thought I'm having the time of my life. I was falling in and out of love, I had my ups and downs when it comes to my job, and I thought that's how life is supposed to be. And then.. I met you, and you changed all of that. The way you made me feel, I finally realized, so that's how it is to feel alive. And those years I spent with you.. every second is worth a lifetime. With you, I lived many lives, and I wish I got to live more. I wish we got to do everything we planned to do, but we can't. Because we're not alone in this world, and actions of other people have an effect on our lives. They even have a power to change it, and that's how our plans shatter."

"How do you expect me to move on, when every person on the street has your face? How can I move on when I see you in everyone I walk past by?"

"Time will fix that. Time moves so fast for me now, but for you.. time is everything you have. And I'm here to make sure you make the most of it, to not waste any. Because you gave my life a meaning, no matter how short it was, even now, I feel fulfilled. I feel a certain kind of sadness because I didn't do, or have, everything I wanted to, but I also feel a strange amount of happiness because you still get to do it."

"You died a month ago, Stefan. I remembered it a week ago. What do you expect from me, to go out and just fall in love again?"

Silence showers over them.

"I'll never fall in love again," she states bitterly, like it's something she had decided this minute.

"Oh, but you will," he moves and sits on the edge of the couch, still far away from where she's sitting, "You'll fall in love with something new every day. You will go to work and fall in love with a new job. You will travel and fall in love with the places you don't even know exist. You will go to the cinema and fall in love with the movie you see. You will walk past the store window and fall in love with those shoes at the front," he says with great enthusiasm, like he's the one who will get to experience all of those things, "And one day, maybe months, maybe years from today, when the pain subsides, you will bump into a guy on your way to work and he will spill coffee over your clothes and you will fall in love. You will fall in love with the life you lead and the children you will have, and with years, I'll become a pleasant memory, and there's nothing wrong with that," he swallows those words like they're thorns, "We lived, Elena, we also loved," _oh, how did we love,_ he thinks to himself, "But you're young, and you're beautiful, and you deserve all of the happiness in the world."

She keeps quiet for some time, and then she replies, "No," her voice determined, "I never wanted any of those things until I met you. I never thought about them," she shakes her head, her eyes still dry, and she wonders what's wrong with her, "I always knew if I ever fall in love it will be in the old fashioned way, it will be an accident, a surprise and a one time deal," she sniffles a little, "And I fell in love with a lunatic in some club I never went to again, who offered me a piece of cheesecake at 5 am in the morning. And he took my whole heart, so now there's just not enough room for someone else."

He can't find words good enough to dispute hers, so he just leaves it at that.

Some time passes before she asks her next question, "What were you even doing in front of your parents bakery at the time?" she furrows her brows, "You were supposed to be at work."

He stays still for a moment, playing with his fingers.

"Don't you dare lie to me to protect me," she says bitterly.

"How can I not, when lies are the only way I can protect you now?"

"I'm a big girl, I can handle the truth."

That she was.

_No lies, Stefan. Ever. Truth may hurt, but it's always more desirable than a lie._

_No lies._

_You promise?_

_I promise._

"You called me that day, maybe an hour before it happened," he starts talking, a certain amount of weight pressing on the tone of his voice, "You told me you're craving a piece of your favorite cake so much," when he looks at her, her eyes are still, cold, "You asked me would I mind picking it up for you," she whimpers, "How could I say no to you, even though I was swamped in work, with your morning sickness and food cravings - "

"You thought I was pregnant," she interrupts him, her voice sharp only to cover the pain behind it.

"Yes."

She remembers now. He was coming out of the bakery when he was hit. A bullet right through his heart. It was an accident, there was a robbery nearby and he..

He was shot by a cop who was trying to stop the robber from getting away.

It was an accident.

_Accident._

"I'm not pregnant," she states.

"I know."

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be there," she whimpers once again, this time louder.

"No," his voice becomes sharp, "You're not going to do this to yourself. This is not your fault. This is not my fault."

"Can I press charges?" something flares in her eyes, "Against the cop?"

"He was doing his job."

"Shooting people in the middle of the street is not his job."

"Stopping a robbery is."

Silence appears again, and it takes up the most of space in the room.

"If you're not an angel, and if you're not a ghost, what are you then?" her voice starts cracking.

"I'm Stefan," he answers simply, "Just the version of me only you can see."

She accepts this, because for some reason, it makes sense.

"Something strange happened, though," he makes a coughing sound, "When they allowed me to stay, they told me I won't be able to touch you."

She remembers the feeling of Stefan slipping away from her. He really was slipping away. And the feeling he doesn't want to touch her.. it was there because he couldn't. Because he wasn't there. And when he reappeared, she was left with that feeling.

"And then there's this whole me being able to hear your thoughts.."

She remembers the confused and surprised look on his face.

"They don't know how I was able to make a physical contact with you," he knits his brows together, "They do have one explanation, though."

She looks at him with interest.

"_Love,_" he whispers.

_Love._ It makes sense. For some reason, it does.

Love is to blame for so much pain, but it's also responsible for so many magical things in their lives.

"We made love," she remembers, something stirring inside of her stomach, "Was that real?"

"Yes," he answers instantly.

"Don't you love me anymore, Stefan?" she asks with a teary voice, but her face stays dry.

"Why would you ask me such a thing?" he asks, horrified by her question.

"I can't see it in your eyes anymore," she starts moving towards him over the couch, "There's something in them, separating you from me. They seem cold, and distant," she stops in front of him, looking into his eyes, "Why is that?"

"Isn't is easier that way?"

She shakes her head _no_.

"Show me," she says, but nothing changes, "Show me," this time, she commands him, but she should have known her Stefan would be stubborn even in death.

In a hurry, before he gets a chance to stop her, she swings her arms around his neck and pulls herself over to him, her lips crashing on his. They crash hard, and electricity goes through her body, making it shiver. Her lips stay glued to his, though. She keeps kissing him with such force until he decides to kiss her back.

She can feel it. She can feel everything. Happiness. Love. Hope. Faith.

She can even feel darkness. Despair. Loneliness. Sadness. Loss.

And she ravels in it. Their kisses are full of poison and the antidote which cures them.

She detaches her lips from his, opening her eyes only to find his opened already.

"There," she says softly, brushing her fingers over his cheek, and he closes his eyes once again because of the intensity of her touch, "There's my Stefan."

This is wrong. She knows it's wrong. She's only creating more scars which time will turn into open wounds.

Some people harm their skin with sharp objects. They create scars.

Some people do it with words.

And some do it with..

"Touch me," she says while pulling her sweater over her head.

_Touch._

He looks at her confused, and she pulls her jeans down her legs.

"We..," she starts, "We don't have to do anything. I just want you to touch me."

He looks at her, and he can't resist.

_His Elena._

His hands fly to her stomach, to her milky thighs, to her arms. He melts into her.

Some people harm their skin with touch. They create scars not even time will heal.

"I want to feel you on me," she exhales when his lips fall on her stomach.

She wants him to imprint himself on her one more time.

_Touch._

_Touch. _

_Touch._

And she's gone.

* * *

**_AN: Of course Stefan would want Elena to move on. If he didn't, that would make their love selfish. Even though the thought of it hurts him, he wants the best of her._**

**_But this is not about Elena moving on. This is about love. And love overcomes death._**


	8. Chapter 8

"Is this what you meant by moving on?" Elena storms out of the bathroom angrily, clutching something in her hand. Her face shows off signs of anger, but there are bits of surprise and fear in her eyes as well.

Stefan looks at her curiously from the couch he's sitting on, his look falling on the thing her fingers are wrapping around, but he can't see clearly what it is.

"What?" he asks confused while studying the changes in the expression of her face.

"This!" she raises her voice and makes few steps towards him, showing whatever she was holding in his hand.

It's is white. Thin and long, like a stick, but it is made out of plastic. His look falls from her face to the object she placed in his hand.

His eyes widen in shock when he realizes he's holding a pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

There's a pink line exactly where it's supposed to be. There's a pink line in a place where it wasn't so many times before and they wanted it to be. They have been waiting so long for this, and finally it's here, but now - it just doesn't feel right.

"How could you hide this from me?" the next time she speaks her voice is hollow, "It's is so cruel.." she swallows those words, making then barely audible.

His look stays glued to the little pink line. "Because I didn't know anything about it," something is stuck in his throat so he barely manages to get those words out, "They never told me anything about a baby."

"How did I not know?" she directs that question to herself more than she does to him, "I missed my period two months in a row. I was gaining weight even though I was barely eating anything," her look wanders all over the room. Her mind played too many tricks on her that she didn't even realize she's pregnant. So many things could have gone wrong, and she wouldn't have even realized it. "I should have known," she whispers, mentally slapping herself for missing out on it.

No more games. She's one in control now.

"Elena.." he says her name softly.

"Don't," she hisses, her eyes becoming still on his face, "I'm going to make an appointment right now, to confirm this," tears are swelling in her eyes, but yet, they don't escape. She turns on her heal, takes the phone, and goes to the bedroom, shutting the door behind herself.

* * *

When she opens the front door, he's standing in the hallway, bouncing from one feet to another, nervous as hell, his palms sweating - he wasn't even aware it's possible to sweat in death.

She closes the front door and holds still in front of him, locking her look on his, gently playing with it, but his anticipation falls on her like a heavy weight.

She takes her jacket off and walks past by him without even saying a word, and he follows her. She throws her jacket over a chair, her, who always insisted on keeping it on a hanger, and sits on the edge of the couch. He sits on the other side, waiting for her to be ready to speak.

Some time passes before she speaks, "Well, I am definitely pregnant," she says without looking at him.

Here is it, the moment they've been waiting for so long. It finally came and it's nothing like either of them had imagined it. There's no happiness or ecstasy or kisses or hugs. There's sorrow and pain and emptiness in both of them and between them.

There's a baby on its way, their baby, part of them growing inside of her, and neither of them are looking forward to it - because he won't be there. Both of them share the same reason for not being happy in this anticipated situation, but they let it go unspoken.

"The doctor said it's normal not to notice anything when you go through something I went through. All the symptoms of pregnancy blend in with the feeling loss provides you with," she whimpers silently, her voice jumping up and down, and she thinks how sad it is, how happiness can be swallowed by sorrow so deep that you can't even feel traces of it even when it's growing inside of you. "Morning sickness, distaste towards the food you used to love, mood changes.." she continues talking because that's the only thing she can do right now, "Me realizing I've missed my period two times in a row is the only way I could have suspect anything," she turns her whole body around to face him. She doesn't look angry, she looks vulnerable, "I guess you were right," a painful smile appears on her face, "With your suspicions. I was pregnant after all."

He glares into her eyes without saying a word. What is there to say?

Is he supposed to be happy? He is happy, in a way. She wanted a baby, she wanted it so much, and despite him not being there, she should get her wish. Especially because she wanted his baby. And despite their situation, there's a certain amount of happiness and pride instilled in him.

On the other hand, he isn't happy. He wanted a baby as well. He wanted her baby, their baby, and now when it is finally on its way, he's gone.

There's a melody in each tragedy, and the other way around.

She pushes her face in her opens palms and pulls her fingers through the length of her hair rapidly. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," she jumps on her feet, "We were supposed to be a family. You, me and the baby. One, two, three of them, I don't care how many, but it was supposed to be us. All of us," with each new sentence she raises her voice for a bit. She wraps her arms around her body to stop herself from trembling, "How can life be this cruel? How can it give me one, but take the other?" she stops and turns to him, holding his look with hers, like she's asking him, like she's expecting him to know the answer.

Stefan always had all the answers. He always knew the right thing to say. They went so well together - he was the hum in her silence.

_Very poetic for a guy who says he doesn't like to read._

But now, he doesn't have any words to say.

Life is life, in all of its beauty, it is also cruel. Life is everything - an awe you make after reading a book, a soft smile upon hearing a song, silent footsteps in midnight while you're trying not to wake anyone up, surprise when you open a present. Life is beautiful, and charming, and magical.

But nothing comes without a price. That's why there's sorrow and loss and sadness and despair.

It's not true that there's not a lot of happiness in the world. Quite the opposite, there's an unusually large amount of it, we just can't always see it, or appreciate it. Happiness is hidden in a smile of a child, in a kiss shared between a young couple, in a laugh made by children playing on the street, in joined hands of that elderly couple that spent few decades together.

There are so many good things, things we take for granted, things we can't even see if we don't stop and look closely. Maybe we can't see them if we don't know what we're looking for. There's so much of it - and that's why bad things exist as well, to outweigh it all.

Life takes from one person to give it to other and that's how it goes, in a circle. That's how we're all connected.

"I don't think that's how it works, Elena," he finally says, rubbing his palms against each other, "I don't think life is purposely trying to hurt you. It's just doing its job," he knits his brows together.

"Its job?" she frowns, "And what is that exactly?" she chuckles in pain.

"It goes on, and it doesn't look back. All in all, I don't think life is to blame for anything, because, just like every story, it's full of ups and downs to make things more interesting. What is a story without a twist? Life is not a straight line, death is. Just like a heartbeat, as long as there are waves, close to each other, touching, maybe even crashing, life goes on. There's a hum, there's a beat - and when the line is straight, the music stops. There's - nothing. Moments in life are what matter. There are bad moments as well as there are good ones, and you just have to make the best of it, and not let those bad moments overshadow the good ones. You can blame them, you can be angry with them, but don't ever let them win."

Some times passes before she responds, "They already are winning," she shakes her head, "Where's my happy ending? Where's my picture perfect?"

"And where's mine?" he raises his voice, "I am dead. I have to go somewhere, I don't know where, and I have to leave you behind. My worst fear was living without you, but what if being dead without you is worse?" he cries out, "But I love you. I love you more than life, and I know you belong with me, but you can't be with me if we're not at the same place. And now," his look falls down her body, on her stomach, "There's a baby. My baby. Our baby. And I won't be a part of its life," he pulls his fingers through his hair, "Part of me will be running around, and I won't have a say in anything. This changes everything. I didn't just leave you. I left my family," his throat tightens.

Her whole body itches with guilt. How could have she been so selfish?

Alive, dead, what's the difference? Both of them have to go on without the other.

She rushes over to him and kneels before him.

"But you will," she tells him, "You will have as much of a say as I will. I will raise our baby like you're beside me, because you will be, won't you?" she asks him even though she doesn't expect an answer, "In a way, I know you will. And before I make a decision I will be asking myself, _what would Stefan do, what would Stefan say?_ You will be such a big part of our child's life, Stefan, I promise you that," he puts his palm on her cheek and gently caresses it, "Our child will know everything about you, how much you wanted him, how much you have loved him even before he arrived, or existed."

"Or her," he smiles.

"Or her," she repeats.

"Promise me you will stay with me until the baby is born."

"I promise."

* * *

_**AN: I'm sorry it took me quite some time to update, I was dealing with my exams, but I'm all done now :)**_


	9. Chapter 9

**_I know it's only been a day, but it's my apology for taking me a week to update ;)_**

* * *

With time, Elena became acquainted with the realization that life is life and that things happen simply because that's what life is - a series of things happening. Good things, bad things, carefully planned things, things that happen without any reason at all.

Pain was frequent. It became a constant companion of hers. So much that she had almost gotten used to it. Some people would find that sad, to travel through life with a suitcase full of pain, but she had thought it only made her stronger, more prepared.

"Where is she?" Stefan asked nervously, his brows knitting closely to each other, "I'm dead and I move faster than she does."

This made Elena chuckle, and not in a painful way. Stefan often made all sorts of puns about him being dead which, in the beginning she had to admit did hurt, but with time she got used to it like one gets used to all other kinds of distasteful jokes. It was her way of coping. It was probably his way of coping as well.

"Relax," Elena said gently, "She will be here any minute now."

Stefan smiled at her, or better to say he smiled at the motherly tone of her voice, which made him believe she will be a better mother than he initially gave her credit.

They were in the doctors office for an ultrasound. Elena let him tag along, which she usually didn't, because he had a tendency to get emotional and calming a person only visible to you in a public place can be a little bit tricky. Not to mention crazy. She barely convinced Dr. Edwards that she's fine and that she doesn't need his help anymore since she's completely focused on the baby now.

She showed him the picture of one of the ultrasounds she's been on before but he couldn't see the baby, which made him sad. She tried to make him feel better by saying she's only three months in and that everything is still a little bit blurry, but it didn't help. So she decided to let him in on this, thinking how maybe he could see the baby better this way.

He was there when she called her parents to let them know she's pregnant. When she told his mom who cried about getting a piece of her son back. When she told all of their friends.

His mom often brings her cheesecake which makes him happy and sad at the same time, because she loves cheesecake but he will never be able to bring it to her again.

"Mrs. Salvatore," the door of the office fall open and a young woman with curly black hair and big blue eyes storms into the room. There's a file in her hands with Elena's name on it, and Stefan watches her carefully as she puts the file down and instructs Elena to lie down on the table. "How are you feeling?" she lifts her shirt up, revealing her small baby bump.

"Marvelous," Elena answers cheerfully while the doctor is putting elastic gloves on each of her hands.

"Is the morning sickness gone?" she spurts some cold, transparent gel on Elena's stomach.

"Yes."

Stefan coughs.

"Well, not completely," she corrects herself, wanting to playfully smack her husband on the arm.

The doctor smiles while rubbing the gel all over Elena's stomach with the ultrasound extension.

"Well, everything seems fine," Stefan makes few steps towards the machine, hovering above the doctors head, "Vitals are good," she nods satisfied, and Elena smiles at Stefan squinting at the screen, "The baby seems to be developing as it should. It's healthy," Elena keeps staring at its little feet and hands and she hopes the head won't be as big when the baby decides it's time to come out.

"Oh, Elena," Stefan says silently, his face inches from the screen, "I can see it."

"Do you want to know the sex of the baby?" the doctor asks.

The insides of Elena's eyes flare up, and she looks at Stefan for confirmation. He looks at her surprised before pulling a smile across his face. He nods, "Yes, if you want to."

"Yes," Elena replies cheerfully.

"Just a second then," the doctor starts moving the extension over her stomach and looks closer at the screen, "Ah, there. Congratulations, it's a boy," she turns her head to smile at Elena, but Elena already is smiling widely.

She didn't care is it a boy or a girl, as long as it's happy and healthy and theirs. As cheesy as it sounds, it's the closest thing to the truth.

"I'll give you a minute," the doctor says when she notices anxiousness mixed with happiness on Elena's face, so she gets up from the stool and leaves the office.

Elena keeps staring at the screen. A boy. Will he be just like Stefan? Will he have his fathers eyes and smile and the same sandy hair? Or will he be nothing like him? She spent few minutes trying to decide which is worse.

"A son," Stefan says after few minutes of silence, "Please promise me you will at least introduce him to baseball," he says jokingly, turning his head from the screen to Elena, "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks when he notices the expression on her face.

"Nothing," she shakes her head against the pillow, "I just keep thinking of how much he will remind me of you," she answers honestly, because anything other would be a lie, an illusion, and she promised herself to be the one in control.

Stefan glares at her for a bit, speechless, before he says, "I think he will be like both of us, and then again, nothing like us but more like himself," he sits on the bed next to her, taking her hand into his and caressing the top of it with his thumbs, "He may have the color of my eyes or hair and he may possess the gentle way you smile or the swift sound of your voice. And with time, you will get accustomed to those things, the things which might have initially hurt you, but with years, as he grows up, you will be proud of him because of things that have nothing to do with how much he reminds you of either of us," he lets go of her hand and places his palm on the top of her bare stomach.

She smiles at him and covers the top of his hand with hers.


	10. Chapter 10

He stayed all the way through her pregnancy, like he had promised.

They got to experience together a journey they were trying to hitch a ride for such a long time. He wasn't able to bring her ice cream in the middle of the night, or a piece of cheesecake every once in a while, though his mother had that one covered. He wasn't able to stop her from eating pickles at 3 am either.

He was able to tell her how beautiful she looks, though. He always thought that's one of the things you're supposed to say to pregnant women to make them feel better, but he never thought it might actually be true. During those nine months she was more beautiful than ever - he had a feeling like he's seeing her for the first time, like she's that girl from a club he convinced to have a piece of cheesecake with a complete stranger.

He got to give her a million little kisses, and few of the more serious ones. He got to lay his hands on her stomach and feel his son move for the first time. He was there when she was moody and unhappy to soothe her down, and he was there when she was happy and smiling and making jokes.

By the end of her pregnancy she got irritated, she just wanted the baby to come out, until she remembered that meant Stefan leaving. Then she was ready to keep it in for a little while longer. She always complained she looks like a freaking ship, to which he would reply, _"Yeah, but you carry the most important passenger in the world inside."_

The baby was born two days before her due date, a boy with dark eyes, which she read all the babies have when they're born, and fair hair. They named him Sam, without any special reason, they just both really liked the name. Everyone think a name has to have some sort of a meaning. It doesn't, he will give it a meaning through his life. He will define his name, not the other way around. If she named him Stefan to honor her husband, everyone would always remember her late husband, and both her and Stefan were afraid that's all he's going to be to people and neither of them wanted him to carry such weight on his shoulders.

Her parents flew in, as well as her brother, when they got the news. His parents were there, and in his last moments of sanity his father cried. _"See you soon, old man,"_ Stefan thought when he saw his father crying over his grandson in Elena's arms. His mother cried too, but then again, his mother always cried. Even Damon came which surprised him greatly, and so did his fiance, a woman he never got to meet. All of their friends were there as well. Caroline, Rebekah, Matt, Nik. Rebekah, his childhood friend, had a distant look in her eyes. Maybe because she had seen his baby pictures and now the same baby is sleeping in front of her. But then again, don't all the babies look the same?

As he watched his family and friends gather around his wife and his son, he felt life slipping away from him. He felt he doesn't belong there, among the living. They can't see him, or talk to him, or understand him. Life is for the living, and he no longer lives, at least not in the traditional sense of words. But he did not feel sadness or sharp pain in his chest. He felt at peace.

He was leaving behind so many people, so many things, but isn't that the point? He has something to leave behind, as a proof he existed. People will keep his pictures in their photo albums, and he will live in them. He will also live in Rebekah's childhood memories and in the bond every mother has with her child. He will live in the love Elena feels for him, and a part of him will live in his son.

He's dead, but before he died, he lived. _And oh, how did he live._

It took few days for Elena to come back home from the hospital. She placed Sammy, how everyone started calling him already, in the rocking crib Stefan and her picked from the catalog. She placed the rocking crib in the living room, while his actual crib was in his bedroom, but she wasn't ready to leave him here alone just yet. She sat on the edge of the couch and slowly rocked her son.

"Elena," she hears a faint voice behind herself.

She turns her head around and notices Stefan walking towards her, weak and pale, and something clenches inside of her chest. Maybe her heart, ready to break into million pieces.

He crouches before her and takes her free hand, the one that's not rocking the crib, and places it in his. "It's time," his voice is already distant, faint, like it's hard for him to speak.

"Time for you to leave me," she whispers silently with a pang of pain in her voice. She's been preparing herself for this day for quite some time. How much can you prepare for the love of your life to leave you forever?

His look falls from hers, and his head sags on his neck, and the next time he raises his head she notices tears in the corners of his eyes.

"Listen to me," he says weekly, and she can feel them pulling him away from her already. She wants to kick and scream and curse, but she knows that will do no good. "It's okay to fall in love again," he says.

"No," she shakes her head stubbornly, not wanting to hear any of it.

"Yes," he corrects her, "I'm not saying you have to, or that you will, I'm saying you have to give yourself a chance. You have to live your life, for yourself, and if you can't do that live it for me, and live it for him," he looks at his son with the corner of his eye, and it hurts him, looking at what he's leaving behind. "I don't want you to push it or fake it or make yourself do it for the sake of doing it, you don't even have to search for it, but if it finds you, promise me you won't fight it."

"How am I supposed to be with anyone else after I was with you?" she asks painfully, "How am I supposed to love someone else after I loved you? After you, no one will ever be enough. You ruined me Stefan, and I don't regret being ruined," she brings their joined hands in the air and kisses the top of his. He sighs. "But I promise to live my life fully, as full as I can, simply because I'm not living it just for me anymore," she looks at their son and smiles weekly, so weekly that it seems like someone forcefully painted a smile on her face.

"I love you so much," he tells her, and she shifts her look back to him, "I never thought it's possible to love someone as much as I love you, but here I am, even in death, maybe more so now, realizing not even death without you is worth it, let alone life. I have no idea how I managed so many years without you, and I have no idea how I will do it now."

She leans her head down and their foreheads touch, and for few minutes they stay like that.

"I think they're waiting for me," he says after few moments of silence, "It's getting harder for me to be here, to hold on," he says like someone is taking his breath away.

"Not yet," she begs, breathing into his face, "Please not yet. Just a little more time," her fingers cling onto his shirt, not letting him go.

"We got a lot more time than we were supposed to. Think about it, how many people get to do this, to say goodbye? How many people get a chance for one more hug or a kiss or a simple word. We got a lot more."

She whimpers. "I love you infinitely."

He manages to smile as she gently presses her lips against his, "I love you infinitely more."

He shifts his attention from her to their son. "Hey Sammy," he touches the gentle skin of his son's hand, "It's your turn now, buddy. Take good care of mommy for me, okay?" he keeps silent for a while, but the baby doesn't even make a sound, "Right," he presses his lips against his forehead.

He sighs and gets up on his feet, and when he moves to leave, Elena calls out for him, "Stefan?" he turns around, "Will you wait for me?"

He smiles gently at her. "By the time you get there, I'll build you a castle out of clouds."

And as he says those words, he disappears. The room seems a lot more empty without him.

For the first time after almost a year tears fall down her face. One after another, they free themselves from her eyes and fall down her cheeks, and she feels relief.

She cries for hours, even though to her it seems like forever, and she finally gets to cry because she had let him go.

Because she said goodbye.

* * *

_**AN: So, I just wanted you to know that this is the last chapter, there's only epilogue left.**_


	11. Chapter 11

Following day after he went away all she seemed to do is cry. She cried herself to sleep, and she cried while holding Sammy, she cried while making lunch for one. Sometimes it felt like she's crying in her sleep as well. All the tears were bottled up inside of her for such a long time, and now they were trying to find their way out. She had no other choice but let them.

And then one day she woke up and there were no more tears. She was afraid her heart forgot, or that it is on its way to forgetting, but it didn't, and it never would. It simply calmed itself down.

She got Stefan's old grandfather clock fixed so it ticks again, she stuffed his clothes in a box with most of his other things and kept them in the wardrobe in the hallway. She left his magazines under the table, where they were since they moved in together, and his pictures stayed in the same place around the apartment.

Stefan's mom happily watched Sammy until he was ready to go to kindergarten so Elena can go back to work.

She raised a sandy hair boy with big green eyes and his mothers smile. Looking at him would bring tears to her eyes, but Stefan was right, after some time none of it mattered. After some time those things brought a smile to her face, and a memory became pleasant. She raised a sandy hair boy with big green eyes and his mothers smile, and she taught him how to ride a bike and helped him with his homework and admired his drawings which were very good from a young age.

When there was a problem she could not figure out, she would quietly ask, _"Stefan, what am I going to do now?"_, and when Sammy made his first steps she whispered, _"Are you seeing this?"_, and there were times when she would afford herself the luxury of telling him she loves him and misses him, but those words would open old wounds that refuse to heal. When Sammy was ten, he had a hard case of pneumonia, and while he was lying in the hospital with tubes in his nose, she quietly prayed, _"Please Stefan, let him stay. Please don't let them take him away from me."_ And in those times, she would feel Stefan's presence hoovering above them, and she knew everything will be all right.

It's hard trying to make one person love another without even meeting them. So when Elena talked to Sammy about Stefan she didn't talk about him like he was perfect, she talked about him as he were - like a flawed human being he was. A guy who made buildings grow out of nothing, who loved baseball and cheese fries, hell, who loved cheese in general, who didn't hold his liquor well and said everything that was on his mind even if you didn't want to hear it. But she told her son his father loved him much more than he can imagine and that he wanted him for such a long time. That he loved them both, and somehow that seemed to be enough for Sammy.

When he learned to walk, he would grab Stefan's picture off the dresser and point, _"Dada,"_ and Elena would take him in her arms, kiss his temple and say, _"Yes, that's daddy."_

Stefan didn't only live in Elena's stories and her talks about how much he loved them both. He lived in their apartment, with them, in every picture and every thing he possessed while he was alive. He lived in Rebekah's childhood memories which she shared with Sammy, and he lived in Caroline's stories about how her best friend was the happiest with him.

Sometimes it seemed he's most alive in that silly story about a guy who was able to convince a girl to have a piece of cheesecake with a stranger at 5 am.

Sammy didn't like cheesecake, and he preferred football to baseball, but the way he was sitting by his desk and draw for hours would remind Elena of catching Stefan at three in the morning, adding the final touches to his new design. So she wasn't surprised when she came home one day and caught Sam buried in Stefan's old architecture magazines, or when he decided to be an architect. _Just like dad._

Few days after she turned 50, they discovered she has a stage four cancer. Lung cancer. She never even lighted a cigarette.

She died six months later. Caroline asked her if she's afraid to which she smiled weekly and shook her head, because she knew wherever she's going, Stefan will be waiting for her.

When she arrived there, she kept asking them where Stefan is, but they just kept telling her she has to cross over. So she did, and she kept walking for what seemed to her like an eternity, when she finally found him. Or maybe he found her. He was the same as she remembers him, and suddenly she started worrying she's too old or too ill or not enough for him, but she didn't feel like it. She felt young and healthy, she felt like she did when they were together - like she's on top of the world.

He cupped her face, which felt so soft under his fingertips, and he brought his lips to hers and kissed her. And it felt heavenly. No pun intended.

"I've been waiting for you," he whispers into her lips, softly, like he used to.

"Here I am," she intertwines her fingers on the back of his neck, and with her fingertips starts cuddling his nape. "Have you seen him?" a smile forms on her lips.

Stefan sucks some air into his lungs. "Yes," he smiles against her lips, nuzzling his nose against hers, "You did a very good job. I'm sorry you had to leave him."

"I'm sorry too," Elena whimpers a little, holding onto Stefan. "You were watching over us, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"I could have felt you."

"I was there for every moment."

"Like you never left."

"I never left."

"I'm sorry," she furrows her brows.

"Sorry for what?" he asks confused.

"I couldn't do it. I couldn't be with anyone else."

"Elena.." he wants to stop her from having this conversation.

"No, let me say this. There were times when I wanted to, when I missed it. Being close to someone. I even went on few dates, but.. Guys think girls as mysteries, and men think women are mysteries, and in reality we're so simple. I want what every other girl wants, and what every girl in the history of the world wanted and what every girl will want in the future - we just want to be loved and treated in a way which love brings with itself. And guys think we're Pandora boxes and if they open us we will implode and they will implode with us, and so little guys get it right. But you got it right," she smiles at him with her eyes, "And no one else after you had it right."

He pulls his hands on her waist and wraps them around her body, pulling her closer. "We got it right together."

"So, is this our chance for a happily ever after?"

He sighs. "There's no happily ever after," she looks at him curiously, "There are no happy endings, or sad endings, there are just endings. People seem to be caught up in Disney's idea of a happy ending, but there's no such thing. People close a book or turn off a movie and things end for them, but life is not like that. The story goes even after you close the book, and no one ever wonders what happens to the prince and the princess after they get married. Does he die during hunting or does she get some fatal disease? Happily ever after is so inconclusive because a lot of things can happen between now and the time when things end. Life is a series of choices, and maybe we didn't get to spend our lives together and die together when we're old and gray, but I like the choices that I made and I wouldn't trade them for anything. The years I spent with you, I wouldn't trade them for another lifetime. We had something, you know? Something more and something better than some people get in the hundred years they spend on this planet. We loved and we danced and we smiled and we did all of the things we wanted to do, and there are some we didn't have time to do, but that doesn't mean I would choose anything else. I came to realize it's not about the ending, it's about what happens in between. And Elena, even if I died after only a day of knowing you I would die as a happy man because from the moment I saw you I knew you're the best thing that will ever happen to me and I wouldn't opt for anything else."

She presses her face against his shirt and whimpers silently. No more tears.

"We can have a million of little forevers, though."

She raises her look and smiles at him. "We can?"

He nods. "This is a forever. And the next moment will be a forever as well. This is how time works here. Thousands and thousands of forevers just waiting to be lived."

She nods happily, her arms still around his neck. "Is this Heaven?"

He grins. "There's no Heaven. You seem to go wherever you believe you will go. I think that's why I can't find my dad, he believed in reincarnation, not eternal peace."

She furrows her brows. "I don't think I believed in anything," she tries to remember, but her mind is foggy.

"You believed you will be with me, so I guess you're stuck with my belief."

"I have no problems with that," she gives him a peck on the lips.

"Just don't use the **_H_** word. It's not exclusive. Oh man, I gotta teach you these things before an angel beats you to death with a harp."

Her eyes widen. "There are angels with harps?"

He smirks at her, and she hits him on the shoulder with her open palm, "Not funny."

"It's a little funny," he responds.

"Stefan?" she hums his name.

"Hm?"

"How do I look like?" she asks curiously.

"You look like yourself."

"Well geeez, don't sound so disappointed. I mean - "

"I know what you mean," he interrupts her in the middle of her sentence, "You look like the last time we had seen each other," he plants another kiss on her lips.

"Good," she sighs in relief, "I was worried I will be old and ill."

"You're beautiful," he stops her right there and then.

He pulls his hands to himself, and she does the same with hers. He smiles at her and takes her hand in his. "Come on, lets go home."

* * *

_**AN: I think I explained why I decided to end this story the way I did in Stefan's speech. I know I usually don't write these things, but I felt like I have to, because the show disappointed me greatly. I feel like this season was the end of Stefan and Elena as we knew them, and I'm not saying there's not a chance they won't get back together, they probably will at some point, but they won't be the couple I fell in love with. I was so angry, truth to be told, to see how these characters are being treated, and I want to quit this show so much, but that doesn't mean I won't always ship them because those three seasons, and that couple, they were magical. So I guess that's what I tried to do with this story - the ending is not the most important thing. Things end, and they end for everybody, but not everybody get to have such a beautiful life in between.**_

_**I don't think I'll right another story, at least not right away. I don't really have any ideas, or time, or inspiration truth to be told. Maybe when the show comes back and I remember, maybe then. If I get an idea earlier, I will write something, for sure. Thank you for reading and thank you for your lovely comments, I really appreciate it. See you in the near future :)**_


End file.
